To Breathe Easy

by MaydayParade8123

Percy wakes up at 4 P.M. on a Thursday, his sleeping schedule too far off track to be fixed, and Annabeth is gone. OR - They get their happy ending. It doesn't come easily. The epilogue to FAKE. AU.

Summary: Percy wakes up at 4 P.M. on a Thursday, his sleeping schedule too far off track to be fixed, and Annabeth is gone. OR - They get their happy ending. It doesn't come easily. The epilogue to FAKE.

Author's Note: Here I am and here this is. Reminder that this is purely my opinion on what happened after the (extremely ambiguous) ending to FAKE. It can still end however you want.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series or any characters I've adopted from it. Axe, though, he's all mine. Also, I'm sorry.

;;;

Annabeth leaves quietly. It hurts worse.

Percy wishes she would yell. He wishes she would get in his face, shove his chest, bring up things she knows he's trying to forget. He wants her to say something—even if it's mean or sarcastic or biting, even if it makes his hands shake from how much it upsets him—just to let him know that they aren't as gone as he thinks they are.

No matter how much he wills her to speak, she doesn't say much at all. She calls out goodbyes as she leaves and gives hellos as she enters, but it's more out of habit than anything. Annabeth's not really saying hello or goodbye. He hears the sound of packaging tape more than her voice and feels her presence disappear bit by bit until there's not much left at all.

Percy wakes up at 4 P.M. on a Thursday, his sleeping schedule too far off track to be fixed, and Annabeth is gone. He doesn't have to get up and check her room; doesn't have to see if her shoes are kicked off by the door; doesn't have to look and see if she has anything to come back for. He's still in his bed staring at the ceiling, trying to repair that gaping hole in his chest, and making approximately no progress.

Thinking about the way her hand squeezed his in pity—apologetic and so so wrong—evokes a wince every time he's feeling masochistic enough to relive it. There'd been nothing loud about the end of them, he thinks. They had swept it underneath the rug, just like people in Hollywood do when things go wrong. He had known, though; known she would say no before he even asked. That's how it usually was with her.

Percy considers calling Clint and begging for some company. He rolls over and goes back to sleep instead.

;;

When he finally does drag himself out from the tangle of his sheets, he can't bring himself to so much as glance toward her door. He can't let himself do that, because it'd be like admitting that she's really gone. It would be like admitting that he was mistaken, that it's done, and that there's nothing he can do to fix it. He wonders if he could pinpoint where they went wrong.

It might have been that first time they kissed, where Percy had wanted more of what wasn't ever his. The first time they signed their names on the contract, even. He's not positive he truly wants to figure out which moment broke them, out of fear that the memory itself might fracture the thin shell that's keeping him from shattering entirely.

Percy had never been great at keeping his guard up. That had always been her thing, he thinks, smiling without humor.

They'd promised each other that they would stay together no matter what—as friends, as lovers, as anything. So long as they protected the connection they had and refused to let it sever over a disagreement. That particular promise was broken by Percy.

Being around her could hurt; it could bite and sting and burn until he was covered in a bruised and charred layer of skin. Even a "good morning" from her could press in on the wounds when she greeted him from a very cautious five foot distance, because she used to say it against his lips.

When Annabeth rejected him that day, he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it. Percy admits that he might not have put forth as much effort as he should of, but the rejection—her rejection—hurt worse than anything. Percy did what any sane person would have: he pulled away.

Annabeth caught on pretty quickly. She noticed the very first time he couldn't manage to return her smile. And three months later, she was gone.

Two days after Annabeth leaves, Clint calls him.

"I wanted you to hear it from me," he says, voice soft and careful like Percy will shatter, "but Annabeth bought a new house. It's a nice place, in a gated community."

Percy thanks him earnestly and agrees to an interview where he'll make a statement about her move. "Just—my only request is that we make it look mutual, the whole moving out thing. I don't want her to look like the one who was wrong."

"And I don't want you to look like the bad guy," Clint tells him. "Besides, Annabeth's already ahead of you. She did a radio interview this morning."

Percy nods along, despite the fact that his friend and manager can't see him. "What did she say?" he asks carefully, not really sure if he wants an honest answer. Is he even permitted to know what she says anymore?

"She said that you two got too close and in the end it pushed you apart. Something about how you both stopped remembering who you were separately. Still friends, still talk, just different houses," Clint recounts, sounding sad. "I wish one of you would tell me what really happened."

"No," Percy intones without consideration.

Clint sighs. "I thought as much."

He hangs up not long after. Percy regrets the day he let Annabeth rid of all the alcohol in their apartment.

She had pressed a kiss to his hair, squeezing his shoulder with a force that screamed 'I care about you.' She had scratched gently at the base of his neck, urging him to come to her the next time he felt the urge to drink. She vowed to talk him out of it no matter what, because alcohol wasn't the answer. Percy knew it then, and he knows it now, but the impulse is still there. It'd be easier to have a mind clouded by alcohol than clouded by her overwhelming absence.

If he called now, he wonders if she would answer. Instead of doing something stupid, he turns off his phone.

He doesn't watch TV because it's all too evident that Annabeth's not sidled up against him, chin on his shoulder and hand in the crook on his elbow. Cooking isn't an option either, because he keeps making two plates and ends up eating neither of them. There's an Annabeth-shaped elephant in the room, and Percy will do everything in his power to avoid it.

He makes it one week; then two, then three, then four. A month passes without a word from her, with nothing but this low hum of radio silence, like they both know they have the power to contact each other but they can't muster up the energy. He knows she won't call first because the times Annabeth apologized before him were few and far in between. When she did blurt out 'I'm sorry' it was typically by request or in an attempt to ease the air between them. It wasn't often that Annabeth gave earnest apologies, and if she did, they were begrudging and annoyed, almost like she was doing him a favor by saying sorry.

His apartment is too quiet and spacious. He strains to hear Annabeth's music in the next room over, even if he knows there's no music and no Annabeth. There's something strange and eerie about his life without her. A missing puzzle piece isn't the right metaphor—it feels like he's misplaced the entire puzzle.

When he finally does switch the television on, Annabeth's face is plastered across it. She's releasing a new single, and it's good—great, even. She looks happy. He turns it off.

;;

He sees Annabeth when he goes to a meeting with Clint and whoever bosses Clint around. She's leaving at the same moment he steps out of his vehicle, doesn't spare a single glance in his direction and clearly isn't aware of his presence. He teeters between distressed and relieved that she didn't spot him.

Clint's boss—Mr. Collins, a man with far too much gel in his sparse hair—informs Percy that he needs to do something to get him back in the presses. Clint offers up helpless eyes while nodding along with his employer, and Percy understands. "We could record a new single, or get some word out about how you're working on your next album," Clint suggests, smiling shortly. "Simple things."

"Or," Mr. Collins drawls, leaning forward, "we could spark a few dating rumors."

Percy blinks, his hands holding tight to the hem of his shirt. "I…"

"It'll just be rumors," the man tells him, flicking his wrist. "Nothing serious."

"I'm just not sure that's what I want," Percy entreats, carefully. "I mean… I have so much press about who I'm with, or whatever, but like… Would it be so bad to get other press? Like if I did charities or played a few free concerts? Press that's not concerned with my relationships?"

"Free concerts." Mr. Collins snorts and rolls his eyes, like Percy is the most naive person to enter his life. "As if. You can do the charities if you want, but I still think it's best to start a few rumors. People always remember the scandalous things more than the nicer side."

"But I don't want scandal," Percy argues, shooting him a glare. "If you'll remember, I just had my fair share of that. I want something that's me for once. Something that I like."

They quarrel for a while, Clint attempting to defend Percy with meager and mild interjections, but Collins—Percy's decided to drop the respectful "Mr" that precedes it—continues to speak over him.

"It's final," the man says finally, adjusting his suit collar. "You'll do whatever silly charity you want, but we're still tipping the media off. It's what they want to hear. You'll learn more about it the longer you're here."

And Percy… He gives up arguing. It's not like it's done him any good in the past.

;;

Three days after the meeting with his manager, Percy is linked to an up-and-coming celebrity named Lauren Perna. He's never spoken to her, and the first time he sees her is in a picture tweeted to him.

She's pretty, he thinks, but her hair isn't blonde and curly, so it's all wrong. It feels like cheating, even though he and Annabeth haven't spoken for weeks. Even though he's not even contacted nor touched Lauren Perna.

He checks his mentions, finds far too many people asking about Lauren—if they're dating, if he likes her, if she's his new Annabeth. He makes a face at the last one, even hits reply with a plan to stomp that claim out before it can catch fire, but decides against it. The last thing Annabeth wants is to be associated with him, he's sure. There's no reason to drag her into a discussion on Twitter.

It could be that it's 3 A.M., or maybe it's that Percy hasn't slept well for months, or maybe he just misses her. Regardless, there's something that compels him to do what might possibly rank as number four in the list of Dumb Things Percy Has Done.

Percy: I'm not dating her, you know.

He regrets it before he sends it and regrets it even more after. They haven't spoken for over a month, and there should have been another conversation that occurred before this one. Their first correspondence after such a long break should have been something nicer; something with less sharpness to it. Surely he shouldn't have restarted them with a reference to a rumor Annabeth couldn't care less about—one she may not even be aware of.

Annabeth: I know.

He waits for another text to come through, but nothing does. He tucks his phone underneath the couch cushion and doesn't reach for it again.

;;

The Lauren Perna rumors last two weeks. They end because Percy shuts them down.

He gets called in to have a meeting with management later the same day, but he refuses to go. Clint doesn't press the matter, bless his soul, and Percy sleeps for three hours while Twitter discusses his relationship status.

While it's not something he'd considered in depth before, Percy wonders how it would feel if he weren't famous. Generally he feels content and almost proud with his celebrity life; glad that he's found a way to provide for himself and the people that he cares about. However, there's something that's oddly exposing about the world knowing of each and every relationship he has—real or not real. He hasn't had an issue with it in the past, but it feels different now. Almost like a reddened wound that won't heal no matter how much antibiotic he adds.

What happened with Annabeth had very nearly broken him and still continues to chip away at his surface. It had left him raw and singed and hurt and alone, which is probably the worst out of them all. He hadn't been alone for so long that he'd nearly forgotten how tormenting and dangerously quiet it could get. All the burns are too recent to start a new relationship, even if it's a rumored one. He looks heartless in the eyes of the public. They'll think it took him less than a month to get over Annabeth, when in reality he's been stuck on her for more than a year.

He replies to a fan, says a plain and simple, 'we aren't dating, just so you know!' and leaves it at that. His reply gets thousands of retweets, fans relieved that he's still on the market. Percy decides not to say how emotionally checked out he is; doesn't divulge how it feels like he couldn't start a new relationship if his life depended on it.

He starts to heal, little by little. It's slow and it hurts and involves a lot of sifting through thoughts and feelings he's tried adamantly to ignore, but it helps. It helps to acknowledge that something went wrong; to say 'it's over, it's done, she's not coming back' and be through with it.

After a while, he even lets himself enter his room. There's only one thing left, save the basic furniture, and it looks like jewelry. Upon closer inspection, he finds that it's the sand dollar necklace he'd fastened for her the day they kissed in his childhood home. He stares at it for a seconds, minutes, days; wonders why it's what she chose to leave. He wonders if she means to come back for it.

Just in case, Percy drops it in the top drawer of her nightstand. He turns out the light, closes the door, and doesn't go back in again.

;;

He accidentally catches one of her radio interviews coming up on two months since she's been gone. Annabeth sounds tired but happy as she indulges the excited host who babbles on about Annabeth's success. He shovels cereal in his mouth and demands himself not to think as he ups the volume.

"... Pretty good deal, yeah?"

"Of course," Annabeth agrees, and god, he's missed her voice. "Being famous is what everyone dreams about growing up, anyways. I know I did."

"Oh, I meant the whole 'dating the Hollywood heartthrob' thing, but being famous must be a pretty swell deal," the interviewer says. Percy knows she means to come across teasingly, but he also knows how crazed her eyes must look—hungry for information on the vaguest break-up in the history of Hollywood break-ups, probably.

"Both were good." Annabeth pauses, and Percy aches. He wishes he could be there to touch her shoulder; to let her know that he could handle this answer if she didn't feel up to it. "After all, I have to thank him for a lot of my fan base. Most people found me through him."

"But not all!" the interviewer exclaims. "I've got a girl on line two who has liked you since your first show at some tavern."

Her laugh is good-natured, if not a bit strained. Percy closes his fist tight. "Well, let's talk to her then. I have to hear this."

Annabeth handles the fan wonderfully. It had always been something she excelled at, while Percy sometimes had trouble holding his patience and maintaining his image of a good guy. He can recall at least seven instances in which Annabeth had laid a hand on his shoulder just before he was preparing to spew a few curse words. She'd always had his back like that; reining him in when he let his emotions get the best of him.

He turns off the radio before Annabeth's done talking to her long time fan. Even worse than hearing her voice is hearing the genuine smile that's on her face, because it's been far too long since he was the one to put it there.

;;

Percy: Hey

He frowns at that. Stupid, he is. The absolute stupidest. And Annabeth's not even here to tell him whether or not that's a word. He backspaces.

Percy: So, how are you?

Ugh, he thinks. It sounds so strained, like the small talk you make when you don't really want to be having the conversation. While he erases that message, too, he wonders if he should just call her. That'd probably be selfish, though, because he wouldn't listen to a word she would say, but, rather, he'd listen to her voice and commit the sound to memory. He's nearly forgotten the way she can make every word sound beautiful, and it's something he never wants to lose.

Percy: I miss you.

And that—that's what he should really say. That's what he's thinking, after all, and Annabeth used to complain about not being able to get inside his head. There's something that won't let him send it, though. Maybe it's the fact that it's almost too candid; too sincere. She might take it the wrong way. He doesn't want her to.

All he knows is that they're both due at the Kids' Choice Awards tomorrow and that they're going to get bombarded with questions. He feels like it's his duty to warn her, even if she knows herself. He erases the 'I miss you' and types, 'Be prepared for all the questions tomorrow.'

He hates that too, though, hates absolutely every word that's coming to his mind. He might even dislike himself a little at this point, and he's admittedly furious with himself for letting them fall apart when it's the last thing he wanted.

Percy: Hey, will you warn Annabeth about the questions we'll get tomorrow?

Percy: I would have done it myself, but

Clint: Its fine no worries. I'm on it

Clint: btw the best course of action is to just ignore them. If you have to answer you can just be vague

Percy: Thanks. And I will

Percy goes to sleep early and wakes up twice throughout the night. Both times, in his sleep-hazed mind, he fumbles across the sheets in search of another body that used to be there. And both times, it's not.

;;

The first question he hears about Annabeth is, "Do you hate her now?"

Which—that's just moronic, not unlike the rest of the media's questions for him. He's never hated her, not really, and even after a break-up he doesn't suddenly despise significant others. He ignores the man who asked, not even offering a glance in his direction.

Percy does answer a few questions about his new album, absolutely charming a woman who works for one of the magazines he actually likes. There are a few more questions about Annabeth that are called out, but Percy focuses on the people who are asking him about his career rather than his latest relationship.

By the time he manages to step off the red carpet, he feels something like relief. Before he can even take a breath, Clint is clapping him on the back. "You made it out alive. Proud of you. Answer anything risqué?"

"Which is code for Annabeth things," Percy replies, nudging his best friend. "You don't have to tiptoe around her name, you know. I can hear it without falling apart." Just barely, but I manage, he adds silently. Clint doesn't hear the unspoken words.

"Oh, thank god. I've had so much trouble thinking up euphemisms." Percy doesn't know what that means. His human dictionary hasn't been present for a few months. He nods anyways. "Alright, off you go. Someone will escort you to your seat, best of luck, I hope you win, have a nice night!" Clint shoves Percy off in the right direction before doubling back to the edge of the red carpet, presumably to wait for Annabeth's arrival.

A good-looking boy leads him to his seat, asking several times if there's anything he can do for him. Percy makes it a point to learn his name and thank him for being so thoughtful, even if it's unnecessary. The room is buzzing with small talk between celebrities; forced smiles that are so wide it's nearly humorous and laughter that's far too loud to be real. And, as much as he hates it, Percy allows an artificial smile to slip onto his face as well.

He's chatting with a girl named Jordania who's apparently up for the Best New Artist award when Annabeth walks in. She's seated two rows back and around ten feet over from him, but it's impossible to miss her entry; impossible to ignore the genuine thanks she offers to her escort. He blanks out for a second and Jordania trails off, turning to face where his gaze has fallen. "Oh," she says, sounding interested. "Right. Hostile waters, I'm guessing?"

Right as the younger girl says it, Annabeth faces them. She catches Percy's eye briefly, her hand surging up like she might wave. She drops it to her lap in the end, staring straight ahead. Percy looks away after she does. "Yeah, it's always a bit tense after break-ups, isn't it?" He shrugs and tacks on a laugh.

"Maybe," Jordania allows. "I've just heard that you guys were pretty close, is all… Always thought you would be the type to stay friends after something like that. Especially with all the history."

"We did," Percy rushes out, and she jumps at the suddenness of his voice. "I mean, we are. Friends. We just needed some space."

Jordania raises an eyebrow. "So I've heard. Sounds a little generic if you ask me, but I'm not the judge here."

"Percy!" He turns to see a vaguely familiar girl whose hand is warm on his shoulder. "How are you?"

"Uh, fine," he answers, his eyebrows dipping a bit. "How are you?"

"Great! It's really nice to see you." She glances over her shoulder. "I better go; my seat's over there. You should call me sometime."

Percy stares after her for a moment, and then he faces the front again. The host is on the stage now, and Percy couldn't be more enthusiastic about getting the show on the road. He's ready to be home, out of the same room as Annabeth. There's a certain something buzzing beneath his skin, and he knows that he wants to go to her, sit there like nothing's happened. He doesn't let himself.

Clint: My god, Percy

Clint: The deer in headlights look

Clint: I am losing my shit over here I can't stop laughing oh gdo

Clint: THAT WAS LAUREN PERNA oh GOD you didnt recognize her at all

Percy: Oh

Percy: Oops

He glances around the room, and, sure enough, finds Clint seated and red-faced from laughter. Percy gestures vaguely, trying to express some sort of apologetic indifference to the occurrence, but Clint just waves him off, laughing into his palm.

"Smooth," Jordania comments from her place next to him.

He tries to ask her what she means, but the lights dim and the music blares. The show starts.

;;

Annabeth walks away with two awards and he ends up with one, too. He tries not to remember how they still have a whiteboard in the kitchen where they were keeping track of their wins, Annabeth being so confident that the day would come where she transcended his score. He can't imagine that she's too far behind, now.

On their way out, he gets pulled aside for a few impromptu questions. Inquiries are tossed at him one right after another: 'How does it feel to get another win, Percy?', 'Percy, what do you think about your success?', 'When's the new album due? Can we get an exclusive?', and, last but not least, 'Percy, why did you and Annabeth really break up?'

And, for some reason, that's the Annabeth question he decides to address. "I've told the story a few times." He offers up a tight smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We just decided to go our separate ways. Things don't always work out perfectly."

"So you're saying that, if it were perfect, your relationship would have worked out?" A woman pushes a microphone his way, even though there's several already in his face.

"I think," Percy starts, blinking at the flashes of cameras, "that everyone hopes for relationships to work out, no matter what. I mean, I don't really just date to date, you know? I go in with some intent." A few more questions are called out, following up his answer, but he excuses himself. It's been a long night.

When he gets home, he adds tally marks to his side of the board, then marks Annabeth's down as well. She's one award ahead of him, and it's almost—almost—enough to make him call.

;;

(He calls on his birthday. It's an accident.

Once he realizes that it's Annabeth who picks up—sleepy and maybe a little annoyed—he immediately knows that he should hang up. His thumb even hovers over the key that'll end the call. He can pretend like he's having loads of fun on his own birthday instead of locking himself in Clint's bathroom to finish his drink in relative silence.

Instead, he says, "Hey."

It's by far the worst chosen word in the world. He regrets saying anything at all. "Uh, hi? Look, it's late..."

Percy sighs; laughs a small, pitiful thing. "I know. But you're supposed to stay up late on your birthday, aren't you?" He swirls his beer and slides it onto the counter. His visions just blurry enough to make him feel off, so he decides it's time to stop drinking.

"Right," Annabeth mutters. "Happy Birthday."

Percy gives a hum as a response. "Can I ask you something?"

She goes quiet. "Percy, I don't think this is—"

"You did love me, didn't you?" He sucks in a sharp breath after he rushes the question out, and the air is just as stale as the situation. "We… We were good, weren't we? When we were..."

Annabeth doesn't answer, and somehow that's an answer in itself. Before he can end the call, she sighs. "I think," Annabeth begins gently, "we were as good as we could have been."

Percy nods along. She can't see him, though, so it's in vain—so much of what he does is in vain. "And did you love me?" The words sound pathetic to his ears, like a child desperate and pleading for attention. "I sound so stupid, but I always wondered, you know? I feel like I never really knew what was us, or something. I keep confusing us with them—like Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. But we're different from them, I think. I'm still—"

"I did love you," she interrupts, like she wouldn't say it at all if she didn't say it right then and there. "I loved you as much as I could."

How much was that? he wants to ask. Percy blinks in an attempt to clear his mind, but it only gets fuzzier at the edges, like he's just woken up from a midday nap. I loved you, too. You have to know that I did. "Okay."

"And you were right," she adds. "We were different from them."

He doesn't respond to that. He isn't sure how to.

"Happy Birthday, Percy. I hope it's fun," she tells him softly. Then she ends the call with a deafening click. Percy feels like it might not be the only thing coming to a close.

The call is a thing they immediately ignore. Percy clears his call log so that he can pretend he never dialed her at all. Annabeth doesn't contact him for a long time after that. He takes the words she said and locks them away into the furthest corner of his mind.)

;;

"So, Percy, we're all just dying to hear about this new album that's due this summer," Kat Danley drawls, draping herself across her desk. "Any collaborations?"

"Oh, yeah," Percy enthuses. "I worked with Ryan Tedder to write two songs on the album, and Julia—"

"I was more curious about a certain appearance on the album from everyone's favorite blonde," Kat informs him, clicking her nails on her desk in a leisurely manner. "So? What say you?"

"She's—" He pauses. "I mean, maybe in the future. But she's won't be on this album."

"Ooooh, are the claws out? Still quarreling?" she questions, clearing wanting him to disclose a few details on her show. He and Annabeth had been keeping it vague and every interviewer wants the story first. They've probably started placing bets, at this point.

Percy shakes his head, chuckling. "Not quite. I think everyone kind of gets it, though, like… You need space after such a long relationship ending, you know? We might work together again at some point but I don't think it'll be right now."

Kat pouts, making Percy break out into a smile. She really is a funny woman; with expressions too big for her small self. "But everyone wants a duet now," she whines. "Come on, Percy. If you won't hand us this flawless song with amazing harmonies you at least have to tell us more about the fall out!"

The audience cheers and whoops, encouraging him. He wonders why he didn't ask Clint to add Annabeth's name to the blacklist for this interview. "There's not much to say," Percy says slowly, after the noise dies down. "Things just stopped going right for us, and now we're where we are. I think we'll be close friends again someday, but everything's just a little… new, right now. We both need time, and I'm willing to give her as much as she needs, even if it's, uh, forever."

The crowd coos, and Percy very nearly hates himself. He's always doing that; always letting how he really feels bleed through even though he's supposed to keep it under wraps. Kat even sighs dreamily. He swallows and stares at his hands with enough concentration to move mountains.

Kat graciously changes the subject after that, but Percy's still thinking about how wrong it is that Annabeth's not at his side.

;;

"She saw the interview, you know," Clint tells Percy over some burnt cookies. "She texted me about it. Asked if you were told to say all that."

Percy might feel a little sick, but he manages to keep down the charred cookie. "What did you tell her?"

Clint shrugs. "The truth, I guess. Told her that you went into that interview with planned answers for tour and album things, not Annabeth things. She never answered."

"Sounds like her," Percy mutters. "She doesn't like the truth very much, you know? But she always fights to know it."

"That's just people, though," Clint says softly. "We all want to hear the truth. Unless it's something we decide that we don't like."

"The other day," he finds himself announcing, breaking a cookie into tiny crumbs, "I almost texted her. Something stupid, and I just knew she wouldn't like it because I was being honest. She would have said 'no, not now' in that pleading way she always did. Does. I know she would have. And, you know, for someone who's so prepared, she really is one hell of a procrastinator, at least with anything that involves something beyond the robotic functions of life. Like, God forbid she actually feels something, for fuck's sake—"

"Percy—"

He looks down at the dessert that had been mostly in one piece. It's crumbled into cookie dust. He lets out a breath, watches particles of it sail off in the air. "Right. Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Clint says, voice still gentle. He shifts like he might be uncomfortable. "What did you want to text her?"

Percy scoops up the mess with his hands, pouring it into the sink. "'I miss you,'" he quotes, and when he blinks, the words are still seared on the back of his eyelids. "It's stupid. I'm stupid."

Clint sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "I think… you both have a lot to talk about. And I think you've both had time to lick your wounds and bounce back. So, maybe it is time to really start the healing process."

"Pretty sure that talking to her again will just make it worse," Percy returns, still staring at the crumbs in the sink. He thinks about the call he made on his 20th birthday, where he had hoped to find some answer or explanation that would help him understand. He came out more bruised than he was going in. "I… I still care about her, you know? It's only been around four months since we… And maybe it's not enough time. It just sucks to know that she probably doesn't care as much as I do. I don't want to feel like I'm the only one putting a foot forward." Which isn't fair, and Percy knows it. He's the one who pushed her away, even while Annabeth knocked on the walls he built up, asked to stay with him as a friend, and begged him not to shove her off. He did anyways.

"You both care, don't give me that," Clint snaps, flicking Percy's forehead. "Come on, kid, you aren't thirteen! This is not the end of your life!"

"But—"

"As your friend, you are being a fucking idiot," Clint informs him. "And as your manager… you're still being a fucking idiot."

Percy cracks a smile and gives a short, self-deprecating snort. "Yeah. I think I knew that, I just…"

"My god, I have never seen two people who have more confrontation issues than you and Annabeth." Clint sighs, as if Percy's ignorance has sucked the life out of him. "These cookies are awful."

Percy frowns a little. "Your honesty is so charming."

"Maybe Annabeth will think the same," Clint says, leveling Percy with a look. "Call her."

No thanks, Percy thinks. Tried that once. Besides, it would be too easy for her to hang up on him, then he'd leave an extremely stilted voicemail offering up rambling sentences that mostly consist of 'right' and 'so', probably. "Okay."

"And get some rest, for Christ's sake. You look like you haven't slept in ages."

Not far off, Percy muses, but he nods dutifully. "Thank you. You're a good friend."

"The best one you've got!" Clint calls as he heads for the door. "And don't you forget it!"

;;

It takes him exactly three months to contact her after Clint's advice.

If there is one thing that can be said about Annabeth, it's that she's intimidating. When he finally does decide to message her, he's almost positive that she'll ignore his attempt altogether. He's pretty sure she only picked up the first time because she was half-asleep, probably not even checking her caller ID.

He texts her the day before Thanksgiving. He's stretched out on his mother's couch, feet resting on a pile of towels fresh out of the drier. They're warm and comforting and just what he needs to start the inevitable conversation.

Percy: Hey

She takes ten minutes to answer, but Percy can't stop the way his heart picks up when she does.

Annabeth: Hi

Percy: So I just thought I would share this… Went for a run earlier and I passed this woman who had my face on her shirt

Percy: And by woman I mean woman

Percy: As in had to be over thirty

Percy: And her eyes got so wide

Percy: She literally dropped her phone

Annabeth: Oh God

Annabeth: At least tell me you picked it up for her!

Percy: I did

Percy: But she just dropped it again

Annabeth: I think I'm actually wheezing

Annabeth: Who brainwashed that woman into believing you were so impressive that she had to drop her phone?

Annabeth: I'm baffled

Percy has to Google what 'baffled' means, but there's some warmth in his chest that feels a little like hope. He holds it close.

;;

Percy writes three songs in three weeks. Two are about Annabeth. One is about himself.

Clint loves them, and so does his record label. They decide to add them as bonus tracks on his new album; there's talk about how the album that follows will be completely written by him. Percy shares the news with Annabeth, and all he gets back is a 'Finally, you're reaching my level.'

A day later, she adds, 'Proud of you.'

There's something that's nice about texting, he thinks, because he doesn't have to look her in the eye. He doesn't have to see her hands and frown at the fact that they aren't engulfed in his; doesn't have to worry about whether or not he looks alright. He feels like texting might be a cop out for both of them, some sort of refusal to get too close too fast again, or maybe it's just nerves. Maybe they're too scared that it'll be too easy to fall into familiar routines, where conversations melt into kisses and hugs become hour long naps. Some things should remain buried, Percy thinks, and it could take a while before they even consider going grave-digging.

He tells Annabeth about how a guy wrote 'Pierre' on his Starbucks cup instead of Percy. Annabeth replies with, 'Was it our old friend Harry?', and Percy very nearly laughs himself to death. He shares his excitement over his mother starting a new novel, and Annabeth uses so many exclamation points that Percy knows—just knows—she's smiling like crazy.

The thing is, he's missed her. Not necessarily the kissing or holding her close, but he's missed the sarcastic remarks that kept him in check and the spontaneity of her comments. Annabeth always did know how to keep him on his toes. And he can only hope that she's missed him, too, and that she doesn't just reply to his texts out of pity.

He knows that he should ask to see her. He should take these conversations and make them face-to-face rather than hiding behind a phone screen. Percy's selfish, though, and he's saving his own skin this way. He can almost pretend it's any other friend—not that he necessarily wants to, after all he's beyond glad that it's her. It's so much easier this way, because he doesn't have to see the confusion or sadness or anger that has to cross her face during their conversations. Just the thought of speaking with her in person is terrifying, if he's honest, because what they have is hardly stable enough to survive looking each other in the eye.

It's a Sunday night that Percy makes the decision to pull himself together. He sets an alarm for eight in the morning. When he wakes up, he makes just enough coffee for himself and cooks breakfast for one instead of two. It feels like winning and losing at the same time.

He thinks about her more than what might be necessary, or even healthy, but he's also convinced himself that it's part of the process. He needs to relive the memories, whether they're good or bad; needs to sort through them and clear his head. To some it might look like he's a teenager who's just broken up with his girlfriend of two days, going through his phone and deleting all the pictures they have together (not that he would, that would take far too long), but it's more like moving on. Forgiving himself had always been something he had trouble with, and he works to forgive her too. He's trying for a clean slate, on both sides, something that allows them to start anew without too many toxic memories. It's much harder than it sounds.

It's harder than it sounds because he can remember the way her lips feel on his cheek. He can remember her leaning across the center console and smacking a loud kiss on his cheek, making him feign disgust to hide the blush that rose on his cheeks. But for every memory that's glowing and soft at the edges—waking up next to her, chest rising and falling like clockwork, holding her hand simply while they lounge on the couch, making a single bowl of ice cream but grabbing two spoons—there's dark and angry memories to combat them. There are 2 A.M. arguments and stilted interviews where they pretended to be in love, there's the frustrated tears that ran down her cheeks when he said things he didn't mean. And it hurts to remember those. He hates that he can't have the good without the bad.

Annabeth: Remember when we met?

Percy does. He tells her so.

Annabeth: I remember hating you, you know

Percy: I can't say I'm shocked. The first thing you said to me was "You're late"

Annabeth: Which continues to be true.

Annabeth: "You can never be too late for love"

He can hear her mocking tone. It makes him smile until his face hurts.

Annabeth: Oh God, you were so slimy

Percy: Rude

Percy: Wait does that mean I'm not slimy anymore?!

Percy: Is this a… compliment?

Annabeth: You're probably still slimy. I just learned to tolerate you

Percy: And I'm glad you did

He erases that. It's too revealing; too obvious; too honest. It belongs in another conversation that isn't as lighthearted as the one they're having.

Percy: I specifically remember you calling me intolerable once

And that's not really fair, either, so he deletes that, too. He's sick of second guessing every word he says to her, but he knows it's not right to bring up past arguments. He feels happy right now, or at least happier than he has in the past few months, and it's not something he's ready to let go just yet.

Percy: I'm truly honored.

He sends that one. It's safe, even if it's honest, because it could be read as sarcasm. And Annabeth will definitely choose that interpretation. It's always been easier for her to assume he's lying than to consider the fact that he's telling the truth.

Annabeth: As you should be

She follows it up with a crown emoji, and Percy decides it's fitting. Annabeth's been taking the world by storm, so she might as well start calling herself the queen.

;;

The messages aren't a daily thing, not usually. Sometimes Annabeth will be swamped with interviews or Percy will have a million photoshoots in one day, but they try. Or, at least, he tries. It's better that they don't speak every day, probably. He'd hate for things to go wrong before they're even fully right again.

Clint seems to approve of the way they're slowly picking themselves back up. He nudges Percy when he grins too widely at his phone; flicks his forehead when he checks his phone ten times per minute. She doesn't have to answer right away, he'll say, patting Percy's shoulder, being famous can keep you busy. You know that first hand.

So, Percy doesn't get upset when Annabeth doesn't stop everything to text him back. He even allows himself to watch her appearances on talk shows, messages her and teases about inane things she says. She takes the teasing, too, responds with one of his 'inspirational quotes' that she found on some fan account on Twitter. Annabeth's personal favorite is, 'That's cool. Cool like ice cubes. Or… polar bears,' which is something he apparently said to a fan at some point.

And it's easy, most of the time, to talk to her and act like they haven't been through hell and back. He knows they'll talk about it someday because it's not something that can be avoided forever, but it's nice to let himself be disillusioned, if only for a short period of time. Annabeth seems to feel the same, which is a shocker. Percy was under the impression that they would always be on different pages.

Things are far from back to normal, but it's enough. Whatever's happening, it's enough to help him sleep without waking up in hourly increments.

;;

Things fall into place, a little at a time.

On a cold day in December, Percy ransacks his own home in search of a dark blue sweater. He only wears it during the holidays, seeing as it has an egregious snowflake on it, but it's comfortable and warm and just what he needs in his nearly hypothermic state. He digs through piles of clothes, pushes through dozens of hangers, and still comes up empty.

He puts it to rest. The last time he'd worn it, he was visiting his mother. It's likely that the sweater joined the stack of clothes that his mother keeps for him just in case he decides on an impromptu visit. He almost calls and asks her if she's seen it around, but he'll be visiting her in no less than three days anyhow.

Percy likes the holidays. Things become quieter; Clint gets off his back about interviews and photoshoots and signings and all the other things Percy finds overwhelming at times. He gets a week long break, something that only happens a few times a year, and is privileged enough to spend every second of that time with his mother. The holidays always leave him in high spirits.

Needless to say, he packs two days in advance so that he can leave the very moment he wakes up on Christmas Eve. It's not a long drive, thank God—Percy's not sure if he would be able to function if his mother lived more than an hour away—so he ends up arriving by noon. His mother greets him with a luminescent smile and a batch of cookies.

Annabeth: Merry Christmas Eve! I hope it's fun!

Percy grins down at his phone as he shoves a chocolatey delight down his throat. He takes a picture of the plate full of his mother's homemade chocolate chip cookies and sends that as his reply.

Annabeth: I am so beyond jealous

Annabeth: Tell her I say hi and happy holidays!

Annabeth: Also tell her to send me one million batches of her finest homemade cookies

Percy nearly kicks himself, because if he had played his cards right, she would be beside him, knocking his hand away when he tries to reach for the crispier ones—Annabeth's favorite.

Percy: I'll pass on the message

Percy: And Merry Christmas Eve to you too!

She doesn't answer him, but he has a whole plate of cookies in front of him so he hardly notices. His mother asks him about the state of his laundry room—he pointedly does not give an answer—and how fame's treating him—that one he answers, but he lies a bit to make it sound nicer than it has been recently. He tells her how Clint's doing and offers up anecdotes about interactions with fans and other celebrities. His mother is still the best woman in the world, it seems, and she graciously does not bring up Annabeth.

It's not even that Annabeth is a sore subject anymore—not really, anyways—but it's more like they both notice her loud and glaring absence. And that was always a thing about her, too; once she's made an appearance in your life, it's achingly noticeable when she goes. Or maybe that's just one of the perks of being in love with her. Percy's not sure anymore.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are probably his two favorite days out of the year. His mother showers him in baked goods and maternal love. She gives him the gift of laundry detergent and a new comforter for Christmas—both of which are things he's needed but neglected to buy—and he gives her a personalized coffee mug with pictures of them. She cries when she sees it, so, naturally, Percy hugs her and pretends he's not getting misty-eyed as well.

When he crosses over the threshold of his front door on the 30th of December, he's feeling well and truly rejuvenated. His mother has always had a knack for helping the fallen gain their footing again.

He puts the new comforter on his bed immediately, and then proceeds to crawl underneath it and sleep for an hour or two. Waking up to a phone call from Clint isn't exactly his favorite thing, but Percy survives.

"What do you want?" he groans down the line, burying his face in his pillow.

"Nice to hear from you, too. Oh, what's that? Yeah, my Christmas was great. Went up North, visited some family, saw some snow—" Clint breaks off with a laugh. "You get the gist. Anyways, I was wondering if you were up for a New Years' Eve party?"

"Whose party?" Percy questions, petting his new comforter. It's soft. He thinks he'll stay here forever.

"Well…" Clint sighs with a chuckle. "You've been invited to several. Take your pick." He lists off around fifteen names, which is definitely too many for Percy to make his rounds and stop by all of them. "Mr. Popular."

"Shut up. 'Mr. Popular' is the reason you have a high-paying job," Percy points out with a smug smile. "I suppose I'll attend Nico's."

"Wise choice," Clint compliments. "Just make sure you RSVP to him. He has to add your name to a list or something; not sure, actually. It's really hard to listen to him when he talks sometimes, you know. His tone is so flat."

"I know the feeling." He knows he shouldn't ask. Don't ask, he warns himself. "So. Is Annabeth going to one?" Percy is, sadly, only human. He frowns after the question leaves his mouth.

"I knew you were going to ask that," Clint informs him. "She's going to a party that a few other girls are throwing together."

It's vague, sure, but it's the answer he was looking for. She's not going to the same one as him. And why would she, after all? She had hardly gotten to know Percy's friends, and, come to think of it, he hadn't known her's too well either. He wonders if that could have been another issue in their relationship—if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, and all that jazz. He's also pretty sure he just quoted the Spice Girls in his general thought process. "Clint, I'm thinking in Spice Girls lyrics."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," his friend replies, hanging up directly after.

Percy might have to look up Wannabe on YouTube in an attempt to get it out of his head, but to no avail, he exits his apartment on New Years' Eve still humming the tune.

;;

Percy wakes up on the first day of the new year with a surprisingly manageable hangover and millions of Twitter mentions, as per usual. Except, quite a few of these mentions contain a worldwide trend that reads 'SharingIsCaring.' He's intrigued, sleepy, and a little hungry. He decides to investigate.

Reading through the nonsensical tweets that mostly consist of capital letters ends up giving him a headache, so he searches for a more coherent tweet. Eventually and blessedly, he runs across a link. It's inviting enough for him to tap on it.

He's redirected to a picture on Annabeth's Instagram. There are three things that are immediately wrong.

For one, Percy didn't even know Annabeth had an Instagram. It reminds him of the way their relationship-slash-friendship-slash-whatever is more or less in shambles.

Secondly, she looks gorgeous. It's devastating.

And thirdly… That's his sweater.

His jaw goes slack. Might have borrowed this horrible thing, the caption reads, I'm missing the holidays already.

He feels obligated to defend his ugly sweater, even if it is, in fact, horrible. It's not right to trash talk borrowed (stolen) clothing, even if the borrower (stealer) looks very adorable in said clothing.

It becomes apparent that Percy has two choices. He can navigate away from the picture and pretend that he's never seen it, or he can inform Annabeth that he is very much aware she's abducted his sweater.

Naturally, he chooses the option that allows him a reason to speak to her.

Percy: THIEF

Percy: Do you even KNOW how long I've been searching for that ?

Percy: AND HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD AN INSTAGRAM

Percy: Also I hope you had a very nice new years eve

It hurts Percy a bit to consider the fact that he needs a reason to talk to her anymore. There were times where he could slip into her room at any hour of the day, where they would talk about anything and everything, where she wouldn't question his motives. He misses the days they had where the hostility evaporated and all that was left was trust.

His phone vibrates violently in his hand, demanding his attention. He gives it over easily.

Annabeth: I did not steal

Annabeth: I borrowed

Percy thinks he should probably let her know that borrowing usually involves asking permission. He also thinks that he should ask for her new address, park in her driveway and knock three times on her door. It's apparent that his mind isn't the most rational thing when it comes to Annabeth.

Annabeth: If you really want it back you can have it. I packed it by accident

He pulls at his own hair, closes his eyes so tightly that he sees spots when he opens them. It's the first time they've even come close to mentioning it. 'It' being an all-encompassing word for their relationship, friendship, arguments, and, finally, Annabeth's walking out.

And now he doesn't know what to say because this ground is so thin it'll shatter if he takes a wrong step. There are landmines underneath his feet.

Annabeth: How was your New Year's?

Percy lets out the most relieved of all sighs. She's offered him a way out, and he'd be an idiot not to take it.

Percy: It was alright, actually. Only had three drinks spilt on me by 'accident'

He can hear Annabeth's laugh from however many miles away. His whole body hurts from how much he misses her. He had known pulling away was a stupid idea, but he never knew it would be the thing that made her leave. Percy never thought they would be this far gone; never thought they would let each other drift quite as far as they did.

Annabeth: Oh god, is that a new record? Who was it this time?

Percy: One girl who was a huge fan, one drunk guy who really wanted a picture, and that one girl I'm apparently dating (Lauren ?)

She doesn't reply for a while, and Percy instantly regrets dropping his rumored girlfriend's name. Just like bringing up old fights isn't fair, it's probably equally as unjust to bring up new apparent significant others. He's decided to compose a second message, even has half of the word 'sorry' typed out, but a call from Clint interrupts him. Percy seriously considers ignoring the call. Tomorrow marks the day where they'll begin promotions for his new album and his downtime will be limited. Despite all, he presses answer with a loud sigh.

"Percy!"

"Clint," he replies, warily. "You're calling me on my off day. Why are you calling me on my off day?"

"I'm calling you to see if you're home. Are you home?"

"I'm home." Percy frowns. "Why?"

Clint hums thoughtfully. "Are you sure?"

"You know what? I might not be home. I actually think I'm in purgatory and this couch I'm on is a complete illusion."

"I did not ask for attitude," Clint says primly. "Just heard through the grapevine that you were out and about."

"And where am I, hypothetically?" Percy inquires, raising an eyebrow. He usually finds the rumors more entertaining than they are hurtful.

"A few fans said they saw you with Annabeth. I'm a little upset, to be honest; you both got my hopes up. I'm frowning. Crying emoji."

Percy snorts, shaking his head. "You'll live. Maybe one day. Can I go back to enjoying my day off, Clinton?"

"It's Clint," his manager intones with resignation, ending the call. Percy very much loves his life.

;;

Annabeth doesn't answer for a full day, then two, then three. He's almost worried enough to call, but then she posts a tweet about a charity she's started supporting. He hadn't considered it as an option before, but there's a high probability that Annabeth is ignoring him.

He tries not to let it bother him, but it's been a while since he didn't Annabeth's actions bother him. It's been a while since he hasn't been concerned about what she thinks of him now or what she sees in their future or how she looks at their past. He's almost too conscious of her.

Percy wisely decides to turn in early and get some extra shut eye before the slew of interviews and promotions that'll crash into him next week.

;;

Annabeth answers him in the middle of a photoshoot. And he doesn't make everyone stop so he can answer the text. He just... Conveniently calls for a break. Two seconds after he hears his phone go off with her special ringtone that he never changed.

The photographer doesn't complain much, but his make-up artist chases after him while he beelines for his phone. He's in the middle of unlocking his phone when she accidentally jabs him in the eye with a make-up brush.

"Ouch," he informs her.

"Sorry," she says, without much regret.

It's admittedly a struggle to read a phone screen while your left eye is trying to recover from an injury. Percy manages.

Annabeth: You will not believe how busy I have been for the past week

Percy: I know the feeling. Why does make-up make your eyes sting so bad and how do I fix it

Annabeth: ...

Annabeth: Are you... experimenting?

Percy barks out a laugh, which seems to frustrate his make-up artist. "Just a few more shots, please? Work with me, Percy."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," he agrees, sending her a smile. Her contempt melts almost immediately. "Just one second."

Percy: Yeah trying out some new things

Percy: I look good too. I should wear make up all the time

Annabeth: I'm almost sorry I asked.

Annabeth: You're at a photoshoot aren't you?

Percy scowls. No, he replies, just to be difficult. And stop asking Clint for my schedule you huge creep.

He goes back to standing in front of the camera, and his smile isn't forced at all.

;;

Percy: I have a very serious question

Percy: What do you think of the lyric 'I'm so hungry someone buy me take-out-y'

Annabeth: Oh God

Annabeth: You literally must have over a million dollars in your bank account and you want someone to buy you take out ? ? ? ?

Percy: Yeah but

Percy: That means I have to leave and buy it and come back

Annabeth: Or you could cook?

Percy: Too hungry to cook

Annabeth: Order a pizza

Percy: I don't want that :(

Annabeth doesn't answer. Percy continues idly strumming his guitar, staring up at his ceiling. He was supposed to spend the night writing, but it wasn't long before he started making up horrible songs that followed his own inner monologue.

Clint calls him right after he finishes complaining about all the laundry he should fold. "Why have I been ordered to bring you take out at 11 at night?"

Percy feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. "Oh, God," he says, as if he's in pain. "Oh, God. I have never been more in love with her in my life."

"Disgusting," Clint comments, but it sounds like he might be smiling. "You guys are disgusting."

Percy texts Annabeth something about how she's the best thing in his life, and she tells him that she knows she is.

And if Clint has to ask him what he wants four times before Percy pulls himself out of Annabeth Land, well. It's hardly his fault.

;;

"Anything you want on the blacklist?"

Clint's tapping away at his phone. There's no indication that he's aware of Percy's presence, save the mechanical question.

"I don't really feel like answering more about Lauren," Percy mentions. "If that's her name. I've talked to her one time and Mr. Collins wants me to stretch that for miles."

"Lauren Perna," Clint mutters to himself, still typing. "Not sure if that's the best idea, but if he asks I'll tell him the interviewers didn't have any questions about her prepared. Anything else?"

"No," Percy shrugs. "I'm good."

"Okay." He locks his phone and sizes Percy up. "You alright?"

"Fine."

"You're okay talking about Annabeth?"

Percy rolls his eyes. "That's all anyone cares about anyways, so I might as well give them that."

"Of course," Clint mumbles distractedly. He rocks back on his heels. "So... Want to tell me more about the split of the century?"

"No," Percy replies with a grin. "Oh, look at the time! I have an interview to be at in three hours, I should really get going."

Clint lets him go, but he calls after him. "You know you'll have to tell me eventually!"

Dream on, Percy thinks. He's getting better and better at holding things back lately. If he gets his way, he'll never have to talk about what happened.

;;

His interviewer is a woman named Marcy. He's met her an apparent 3 times prior, and, for once, he actually enjoys the interview. She asks about Annabeth, like any sane person would, but doesn't press him when he neglects to give in-depth detail for every question. It's everything he could ask for in someone who's being paid to drill him with questions.

"I assume it's been difficult for the both of you, then?" she asks, leaning forward in interest. "I can imagine all of that"—she gestures vaguely—"put a pretty monumental strain on the relationship."

Percy nods along. "It was, but no break-up is really easy, I guess. All of that," he grins at her, "did have a huge effect on our relationship, but we can't blame it entirely on that—or, at least, I can't. I recognize the places where I've went wrong."

Marcy looks sympathetic. "Have you talked to her about them?"

He clears his throat, eyes shifting to the recorder set up on the table. "On- or off-record?"

"Whatever makes you more comfortable," she replies, reaching forward to shut it off. "I don't mean to necessarily play therapist here, but I feel like I'm invested after all the pieces I've written about you two."

Percy smiles in appreciation. He supposes he could spill his guts to this woman, but he's not quite ready to admit to everything that happened, especially his mildly-and-illegally-drunken phone call. "Thanks. Um, actually, we are talking still. We just tend to skirt around the bad that happened. It's easier that way, I think? And we're both still trying to figure it all out, so… I think we just aren't there yet. To the point where I can tell her how much I regret everything wrong that I did."

"And you do?"

"Sorry?"

"Regret it," Marcy clarifies. "You regret the relationship?"

Percy shakes his head back and forth immediately. "No, not at all. Never. I just regret a lot of my actions," he answers honestly. "And you can put that on record."

She moves on from the subject after that, and he tells her all about his upcoming album and the tour that's set to release that summer. His mind continues to drift back to the phone call that he regrets on a near daily basis.

It's true what Clint said, Percy thinks. Everyone does want the truth until they find out it's something that they don't like. When Percy had called Annabeth, he had expected an answer just like she had given, but he had also hoped for something more definitive. A 'yes, I love you, and I still do, you know' would have been ideal, but Percy knows he doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve a lot of what Annabeth's been giving him lately.

If Percy had to choose one life regret before he'd met Annabeth, it would have been making his mother cry in the third grade when he came home with a black eye. Now he just wishes he wouldn't have shoved Annabeth in the opposite direction when he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, figuratively and literally.

It strikes him then—as Marcy poses a question about what kind of songs will be featured on his new album—how easy it would be to tell Annabeth that. He toys with the idea of calling her, texting her, meeting her, even, and confessing how much he misses her. Just the thought takes a few pounds off of his shoulders.

After he's released from his interview, and several promises from Marcy not to twist his words, Percy flips his phone over and over in his hand. He doesn't take any action, not yet, but it feels nice to leave the option open.

Annabeth stops texting as frequently, and while it has Percy on edge for the majority of his interviews and radio performances, he knows she's simply busy. There's a distinct fear that settles under his skin. He's lost her once—let her go once—and he refuses to put them both through it again.

She's just busy, and he understands. Her fame is skyrocketing at nearly the same pace his once did. And, more than anyone probably, he knows just how jam packed her schedule must be as an up-and-coming star. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less when she can't text back for hours or days; doesn't mean he can't be upset that he doesn't have her full attention anymore.

It's been four days since she's been able to answer him, and Percy's making a valiant effort not to worry about it. He's not succeeding, so he's trying to ignore that as well. That seems to be his general plan of action. Something bothering you, Percy Jackson? Good. Suppress that and allow it to turn into a psychological disorder in your near future.

The voice in his head sounds more and more like Annabeth every day. He's not sure if that's comforting or disturbing.

;;

When she does answer, it's in regards to a whole new topic.

Annabeth: I just did 12 interviews in a row

Annabeth: 12

Percy winces sympathetically. One interview is usually more than enough to exhaust him, depending on his interviewer. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he runs across people who make the exchange feel like a casual conversation rather than a hard-hitting interrogation.

Percy: That made me wince. You alright?

Annabeth: Am tired

Annabeth: I hardly have the energy to type

And she wouldn't have to be typing, if Percy hadn't been such an idiot. She could have been sitting across from him, wrapped up in the blanket that's always thrown along the back of the couch. She could have complained about her day against his collarbone, lips touching his skin every once in a while—maybe intentionally and maybe not.

He misses her so much that his chest feels heavy with it. He wants a time machine, so he can go back and have a talk with the version of himself who thought it okay to cut Annabeth out of his life.

Percy: Sorry if this is awkward or anything

Percy: And feel free to just tell me to shut up

God, his hearts beating so fast it almost hurts. He falls, back flat on the couch and rests his hand on top of his chest like he's pledging allegiance to his white ceiling.

Annabeth: I always feel free to tell you to shut up

Right. And that's his cue to answer.

Percy: If you're really too tired to type but you want to talk about it you could always call me

Percy: just a thought

Annabeth: A fair point... Would you answer if I did?

Percy: Why wouldn't I?

His iPhone informs him that she's read the message, but she doesn't answer. And even if she doesn't call, Percy thinks he might be alright with it. At least he's offered, at this point; at least he's taken a tiny step outside of their box of comfort.

He's actually managed to lull himself into some sort of half-asleep state when his phone starts blaring Maroon5, effectively startling him. Nearly falling off the couch in the process, he scrambles to check the caller ID and—

Oh, dear god, he's an idiot. He wasn't ready to see her name there, along with a picture they'd taken together at the beach. Percy desperately wants to stare at how happy they look in that photo, but he also needs to answer the call before it goes to voicemail.

He presses answer, feeling like his heart's going to push its way out of his chest from how hard it's working. "Hey."

Fuck, he sounds winded. He's an idiot. Annabeth's not here to call him that, either, so he's taken to doing it himself.

"I thought you weren't going to pick up for a second there," Annabeth replies. And—there it is. God.

Missed your voice, he considers saying. "No, I was just..."

"It's fine," she says softly. "Same here. It's why it took me so long to call, actually, because I was staring at my phone for probably ten minutes and pacing for another ten but in the end I—" Annabeth cuts herself off. It's the first time in a very long time that she's displayed any sign of nerves. "How are you?"

Percy lets her start over. "I'm good."

"You're well," Annabeth corrects, making him smile. "Idiot."

Percy pushes his face into a rogue pillow on the couch. He saves that spoken word as an audio file in his file titled "Things To Keep Forever."

"12 interviews?" he questions, after a few moments of stilted silence. There's a buzzing in his veins and a clouding in his mind. He tries to maintain consciousness, at least.

"12," Annabeth agrees, partway groaning. "And around six of them were those men who hate their job so they basically hate you, too."

Percy hums. "The worst."

"And, oh, listen to this; it was just the absolute cherry on top." Annabeth sighs; definitely annoyed. Percy wants to smooth the worry lines that have to be on her forehead. "They asked me about Lauren Perna. Like, how is she even relevant to me whatsoever? And apparently this Perna girl made a pretty rude statement about me, which he could have lied about just to get a reaction out of me, but still. I've never even met her nor talked to her. How could she have a 'statement' about me?"

Percy frowns. "She's so—"

"Annoying!" Annabeth interjects. "Believe me, I know. I'm none too happy about the way she's managed to insert herself into both of our interviews."

Which confirms a few theories of his, such as Annabeth still watches his interviews. "That's shit. That you had to deal with that."

"I know," Annabeth mutters. "And, rather than asking me about my album that's set to release tomorrow, they're worried about whether or not I kissed so-and-so at whatever awards show."

Percy does not like the way his stomach lurches at that. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Kiss so-and-so," Percy clarifies, trying to sound a tad bit more casual rather than furiously jealous. "At whatever awards show."

"Not technically," Annabeth says slowly. "Like. I was mildly intoxicated—"

"Illegally! You aren't 21!"

"Neither are you," she jeers, and he can see her rolling her eyes even if she's not in front of him. "And it was champagne, for crying out loud."

"Lightweight," Percy snorts.

"My point is," Annabeth plows on, ignoring Percy's comment, "I was not in my right mind when I did it. 'It' being a kiss on the cheek to a very married man who won an award."

Percy bites the inside of his cheek. "Let me guess: rumors that you've been his secret mistress, that you're determined to end their marriage no matter what it takes, and also a few calling you an alcoholic?"

"Ooh, so close," Annabeth says, sounding close to a smile. "There's one more. Can you guess it?"

Percy thinks for a few seconds. "You were cheating on me with him and that's why we broke up."

"And there it is," she responds. "Hit the nail right on the head. Were you listening in on my interviews? Do you have snitches in the industry?"

Percy couldn't be more grateful that they didn't falter at the words 'that's why we broke up.' It's like a reassurance that they're okay, or at least getting there. "Hardly. I've had my fair share of rumors, though. I guess you just learn which conclusions they jump to after a while."

"Right," Annabeth answers. "I remember a particularly interesting rumor I heard last week. Something about a few benefit concerts?"

Percy smiles a little. "Not a rumor."

"Really?" She sounds interested. "Didn't think charity was your thing, honestly."

"Well, the whole thing came up because I was getting pretty sick of only being questioned about my romantic life rather than my actual career. So I suggested charity concerts and surprisingly was not shot down."

"That's so cool," Annabeth enthuses. "I bet you'll have a huge turnout, too."

"I'm hoping so. And it's all dependent on donations. Management tried to convince me to take in some of the proceeds but I said that would defeat the purpose of a charity. I don't need the money anyways."

Annabeth is quiet for a beat. "Sounds like typical you. Always giving."

Percy blinks, flattening his hair idly. "I try. I'm not always very good at it."

"Yeah, but you try," Annabeth argues. "So that's where you really win. It's not always about perfection, you know?"

"What happened to the old Annabeth?" he questions through a laugh. Annabeth chuckles along with him, and Percy's heart sinks a little. She must be so different now; she's learned and grew and became something even more amazing while he's been too busy trying to pull himself together.

The line goes silent on both sides, just a quiet hum of typical static. "I should sleep," Annabeth says, almost hesitantly.

Percy nods quickly, stopping when he realizes that she can't see him. "Of course. Yeah. Sleep."

"And you should, too," she tells him, sternly. "Sleep is important."

"So is eating your vegetables, but I haven't done that since I was being forced to at 10." Annabeth laughs quietly, but he can sense how tired she is. "Go to sleep. I'll see you later."

"This was nice," she says abruptly, almost like she's forcing herself to stay conscious. "The phone call. It was nice talking to you."

I missed talking to you is what he thinks she means. "You, too," he responds. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

It should be easy for him to go to sleep, knowing that she's not too many miles away she's doing the same. He tosses and turns; shuffles around like a dog that can't quite get comfortable.

In the end, he decides to just stare up at the ceiling. Percy's glad that one of them can sleep.

;;

It gets easier every day, is the thing. And as much as Percy tries to suppress the rising thoughts of 'we could be' and 'this feels like mending' they won't leave him alone.

They'll call each other when the day's taken so much out of them that they can hardly keep their eyes open. The night before he's scheduled for Ellen, he and Annabeth stay up until 2 A.M. talking. She falls asleep on the phone and Percy forces himself to hang up before he does something creepy, like listen to her soft snoring that once was a fixture in his life.

(It was always easier for him to fall asleep when they were touching, somehow, even if it was her toes barely brushing his ankles. Percy's never thought about how much he needs physical intimacy, but Annabeth's walking out has made it more and more apparent. Sometimes he feels like he might need a warm body beside his to fall asleep, as a reassurance of sorts. He's not sure why he needs that; not sure why sometimes he wakes up and feels scared when there isn't someone next to him. Along the way, Percy has realized how tormenting it is to be alone.)

She'll text him the next morning and apologize for falling asleep on him, then she'll call later that day and share a story about something silly that happened a few hours prior. And it's simple to listen to her talk; to hear the emotion in her voice that sinks under his skin and rests there.

He has to buy a new journal two weeks after they start calling each other. He begins songs and then trashes them; crosses out lines and puts boxes around some when he's sure he wants to use them. None of the songs have names in them, but Percy's not fooling anyone, especially not himself. They're all about her and sometimes himself and where they went wrong and how he has to fix it and how he's an idiot and regrets so much of what happened and if it turns out okay which it has to and—

;;

Weeks pass. Things are okay.

;;

He goes in her room again. Writing his name in the dust gathered atop the dresser seems like the best idea in the world, so he does. He also manages to inhale quite a bit of dust in the process.

He's a man deprived of someone who made him feel more than he has in his lifetime. It's a situation where he's eternally grateful to her for what she's taught him, but he finds himself bitter at the situation. He hates how unkind fate was to them.

He stays in the room for a while. It doesn't feel like there's a ghost of her anymore, but just in case there is, he writes 'I miss you' in the dust, too. Maybe the hypothetical ghost will pass it on.

Percy texts her a few minutes later, after he's urged himself to leave the room and stop thinking so much. Annabeth texts him back and tells him she'll be on a flight to New York for the next couple of hours, so Percy calls up a friend and decides to go out.

He only gets mobbed once, thank God, but security helps him before he can even begin to feel claustrophobic. His too-serious bodyguard Ben wants to get a move on, now, so Percy only manages a few short hugs and one quick video where he says hello to a girl's friend.

He tweets something apologetic and says that he can't wait for the meet and greets on his next tour. It's true that the fans can be inconveniencing at times, but he wouldn't have anything if it weren't for them, so he's learned not to complain.

Annabeth tells him when she touches down in New York and Percy replies with a lyric from Empire State of Mind, to which she eloquently responds with a 'Shut up.'

It's almost like normal. He's terrified.

The thing is, normal may have been nice in fits and starts, but overall it caused more issues that he generally likes. Maybe Percy doesn't want things to be how they were, but he wants something new. Something different that will work better, that'll save them from any more fallouts.

Percy: By the way, why are you in New York?

Annabeth: I'm on GMA tomorrow !

He grins a little at her enthusiasm. Mentally doing the math, Percy replies.

Percy: GMA airs at 7 EST

Percy: That means I have to wake up at 4 am

Annabeth: You don't HAVE to

Annabeth: But I admit it made me feel a little less nervous when you said that.

Percy: Then I'll watch it

They leave it at that. Percy wakes up dutifully at 3:50 A.M. and brews coffee before settling down on the couch, his feet kicked up to rest on his table. He tweets something vague about time zones, sends Annabeth a good luck text, and manages to keep his eyes open.

She performs songs from her debut album, mostly. As he watches her, he realizes how much she's grown as a performer and notes how lucky he was to be there for that transformation. Contrary to her first concert, Annabeth plays the audience—confident that they'll know the words when she asks them to sing—and she does small dance moves that makes him clutch his beverage closer to his chest.

She charms the hosts, the audience, and himself effortlessly. His favorite thing about Annabeth is that she knows how to tell a story when she sings and how to make the audience feel like they're just as invested as she is. It's a talent. He's proud of her for understanding what it means to be an artist.

After she leaves the stage, he mutes the television and falls back asleep until 10, where his alarm (rudely) reminds him to check in with Clint and talk about his schedule for the upcoming days.

So he listens to Clint, clarifies that he has more than enough studio time and a few hours to conference with some songwriters. Percy's nearly drowning in inspiration at this point, but it isn't always easiest for him to think of rhymes, or words that transcend than his relatively average vocabulary. He wants this album to be stunning; wants it to be something timeless and always applicable, unlike his earlier work. Percy, even if it's not the easiest thing, truly wants to write something that people will be able to relate to and find interesting, rather than his typical bubblegum boy-minus-the-band pop.

Which doesn't go to say that he'll do a complete 180-degree-turnaround. He's already recorded a few pop-based songs, and that's alright with him. He doesn't want to try and come out as a newly serious artist and be ridiculed. He just wanted to create something that's more… him. Something that's less like how he's portrayed in the media.

When he tells Annabeth as much, she tells him that she can't wait to hear it. Which reminds him that he has her new album sitting on his iTunes account, but gone unlistened to. Percy finds himself feeling nervous every time he nearly gives it a go—like there'll be something he recognizes or words that are too clearly about him. He reads the titles over and over until he's memorized the track list, even clicks on the first song but exits out of his iTunes before it can really start.

The bottom line is that he's been feeling sorry for himself for far too long, and he's worried that the album will bring it on again. He's worried that he'll lie there for days, wallowing in every mistake he's ever made around Annabeth, and wondering what it'll take to bring her back. Which isn't healthy thinking for a man recovering from substance dependence. Or Annabeth dependence. Whatever.

;;

Percy's always had issues with timing. He had never been able to get his work in on time when he went to school. He was always and without fail late for the bus every morning. Deciding when to drop bad news was a struggle for him, so he typically blurted it out before he could think to soften the blow. He remembers a poster in his fifth grade English teacher's class that said 'WARNING: DUE DATES ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.'

At the time, he had scoffed at the poster. It was one that he continued to see in almost all of his teachers' classrooms and nearly always disregarded. He wishes he would have developed a sense of time passage—though, that's difficult when you're tossed from timezone to timezone most months of the year.

Annabeth leaves for the East coast the same day Percy decides he might want to see her face-to-face. She's doing a completely acoustic set at record shops and small bars—fifteen shows in a month and a half. He's proud of her, sure, but he's always assumed that they would get their shit together before she went off on another tour.

Annabeth's winning over the East coast while he sits at home and participates in promotion strategies and far too many radio interviews to get attention (as if there isn't already surplus) for his album coming due.

She has more time to talk to him, now that she's released the album and management's cutting back on their rigid instructions. She has shows to make it to, of course, but she easily communicates with him in between; calling him when she isn't sure what sights are worth seeing in the city, texting him when she meets a sweet fan. And he's happy they have more time now—he is, he's basking in the attention and staring at his phone for hours at a time—but there's this thrumming in his pulse that isn't normal. He recognizes it as anticipation.

So, he's decided he's stable enough to see her again. It shouldn't be as big of a deal as it is, but they've been texting and calling and doing basically everything possible without directly meeting. Needless to say, Percy's over it. He wants, maybe even needs to see her at this point, just to prove to himself that he's alright. That he can still breathe when she's next to him, despite all. Maybe he can even teach himself to pretend she's not everything he still wants.

He's chewing on the cap of his pen in hand when Annabeth calls him. It feels like a reprimand—she hates when he bites writing utensils and always used to pinch his upper arm with a scowl when he did.

"Hi," he answers, and it's not his fault if he sounds guilty. He carefully lays the pen down.

"Hi. Say hi to someone for me, okay?"

"Of course. Who is it?" He spins around idly in his desk chair, thinking that he should buy a painting. The walls in his music room are very dull.

"Hello?"

Percy frowns a little. The voice is deeper than Annabeth's—definitely a girl, just more intimidating. "Uh, hi. Who is this?"

"Oh my god." He hears laughter, and then it turns to static like someone's placed their hand over the microphone. Which is most probably what happened. "Percy Jackson?"

"Yep," he pops the 'p', ceasing his spinning. He feels mildly dizzy. He glances at his phone to check the time, only to realize that it's nearly 3 P.M. and he hasn't eaten all day. Now seems like a good a time as every to take a break, so he stands, stretching his stiff muscles. "Who is this?"

"Annabeth's best friend," she replies, and Percy thinks no, mine before he can stop himself. He proceeds to flick his own arm as a wakeup call. "Who you should have met forever ago, and definitely not through a phone call."

He hears Annabeth say something in response. The girl laughs, and Percy files through the millions of names in his mind to find the one labeled as 'Annabeth's Best Friend Who Isn't Me.' It takes him at least a full minute before he blurts, "Thalia?"

"Oh, thank God, I was starting to think she'd never even mentioned me. I'd hate to make a huge ass out of myself on our first meeting."

Percy smiles a little; he likes her. She sounds exactly like the kind of person who would be Annabeth's friend. "Did you end up going to one of my concerts last year?"

"No," the girl replies. "It was a joint concert between you and this girl who won't stop trying to listen in on our very confidential conversation. Yeah, you." She covers the speaker again, and when her voice comes back on she sounds less amused and more demanding. "So, what's up? How's life?"

"It's good," Percy says warily, tugging open his fridge and praying he has something to cook. She doesn't sound very friendly. Also, it's hard to remember to tell Clint that he needs more groceries, especially when his friend usually asks for a list. Lists are for people like Annabeth, not people like him.

"Are you playing her?"

And—it's a simple question, one that shouldn't make Percy drop the (probably expired) cheese he had cautiously picked up before it was asked. "Um—"

"I'm serious," Thalia tells him. "And I don't really care much for your answer, because I'm going to warn her about you anyways, most likely."

"I'm not playing her," Percy says, resigned. "God, what impressions are you under?"

"Defensive," Thalia comments. "I don't trust people who make my best friend cry, dude, so I'm just trying to clear some things up." He admires her straight-forwardness, if nothing else.

With a sigh, Percy picks up the dropped cheese. "I'm not playing her," he repeats. "I do care."

"Interesting, because—"

He sighs again, louder this time, effectively cutting Thalia off and leaving an expectant silence from her end. Leaning his head against the cool fridge door, he thinks of an appropriate response. "I know how bad it looks and I know you might not believe anything I say. But... Mistakes happen. And I didn't know how to deal when everything started going wrong, so I reacted in a bad way. I understand why you're mad. If I were you, I would be too." He takes a deep breath and decides he wants cereal for now, so he grabs the milk. "I just hope you'll believe me when I say that I'm still figuring it out. I care about her a lot and I'm not 'playing' her." He exhales and feels something like relief.

"I don't trust you," Thalia bluntly says, but her tone isn't quite as harsh as it was when their conversation began. "But it would be nice to be proven wrong. Even if I usually hate that. I'm giving the phone back to Annabeth now."

There are a few nondescript noises that follow, then Annabeth's back on the line. "Hi! What did she say to you?"

"It's a secret," Percy says, and it might sound teasing.

Annabeth hums. "I can't believe you two. Gossiping like grandmothers at tea time."

"Don't worry about it," he admonishes fondly. "If it were anything bad I would have already told you."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Annabeth replies, and Percy presses his lips together to suppress a wide grin. "Anyways, how are you?"

"Great," Percy says, but the way his heart beats out of time says I might miss you. "And you?"

"Swell," Annabeth drawls. "Georgia's nice. Pretty trees."

"Trees," he repeats. "Right, trees are… cool. Real entertaining, those trees. D'you think I could order one? Just to keep around the house? I'd really enjoy staring at it, maybe—"

Annabeth laughs, so he stops talking and starts smiling. "Shut up," she tells him. "I wish you didn't have such an inclination to be so—"

"Amazing," he finishes enthusiastically. "I know, I know. You're far too kind. Hold the applause."

"Remind me again why I talk to you?"

"Because I'm me," Percy informs her. Annabeth doesn't object. "So, really, how's Georgia? And how have your shows been?"

"They've been a lot of fun," Annabeth admits, but Percy can hear the wariness in her voice. "It's nice doing acoustic sets, I guess. It feels more personal. And playing at more reasonably sized venues is nice, too. I get to meet more fans."

Percy nods and wonders how long it's been since he's played at a venue that holds less than ten thousand people. "I'm sure. Plus you sound really, like, beautiful when you're all acoustic. Your voice is really expressive."

There's a brief silence, and Percy frowns a little. "Thanks." She clears her throat. "So, I should probably go. Responsibilities and all that."

"Of course." Percy tries to understand why she's suddenly guarded, but he comes up empty. "Stare at some trees for me."

Annabeth chuckles, promises that she will, and ends the call. Percy scowls at the dimming screen for a moment before pushing his phone aside.

;;

The worst part, maybe, is that he knew this would happen eventually. He knew it was inevitable; they would reach a point where conversation couldn't flow quite so easily, where they both couldn't uphold the facade of being perfectly fine. He just wishes it wouldn't have happened around the time he's decided he wants to see her again.

The distance seems so much further than it is. Maybe it's because they were already so far. The physical miles between them have widened the trench.

It seems inane, almost, because he has millions of dollars in his bank account and buying a ticket to the East coast would hardly put a dent in his funds. He's beginning to realize how many opportunities he's had to mend the broken. And, in natural-Percy Style, he's forced himself to overlook all of those opportunities while he was sorting his own thoughts; fruitlessly attempting to complete a puzzle when it's clear that he's misplaced half the pieces; thoughtlessly trying to write a letter without a pen; aimlessly searching for an answer in front of his face when, perhaps, it was just behind his back the entire time.

He lets it lie. He gives her a few days to call him again, or at least send him the routine photo of the crowd she's playing to that night, but all he gets is the terribly familiar radio silence—a low, irritating, unrevealing buzz that stays in his ears. His sleeping schedule falls off track momentarily, and Percy feels like he's slipping—like they're slipping. It's only been three days, he tries to reason, but three days of silence feels like three years with Annabeth.

It could just be midnight bravery, or maybe it's the fact that he refuses to lose her again due to his own ignorance and refusals to fight for what he wants, but he dials her number.

He does think it over for a second before pressing 'call,' but rather than anxiety overwhelming his mind, all he notices is that the buzzing in his ears is gone. The phone rings for what feels like hours, a dull lifeless tone that makes him scrub at his face with his free hand. It takes him a moment to realize that she's definitely busy on a Saturday night, whether it be due to an interview or a concert.

"Hi, it's Annabeth. I'm not here, so—" He hears a laugh in the background of the recorded message, and oh—that's him, that was him.

That was him with his chin tucked over her shoulder as she tried to record a new message for her voicemail inbox. That was him laughing against her neck and saying, 'obviously you aren't there.' That was him saving the recording and kissing her sweetly through her protests of 'give me my phone, I have to redo it.' That was him, that was them, and now they're so far from where they were.

She hasn't changed it, some part of him says. Why hasn't she changed it?

The easiest answer would be that she's forgotten it's there at all. Percy bites his lip until it hurts, and then he realizes that the beep sounded 10 seconds ago, and he's still thinking about Annabeth and pressing his smile against her own.

"Oh," he says suddenly. "Uh, hi. I know you're busy right now, probably, it's Saturday night. But—if you get the chance, sometime, you should call me back. I… Right. Bye."

God, he's embarrassing. He knocks his phone on his forehead twice before tossing it to the other side of his bed, dejected. It takes too long to fall asleep.

;;

Annabeth calls him back at 11 in the morning the next day. It's bad timing, being right at the end of an interview, so he forces himself to reject the call. There's a bitter taste in his mouth.

People Magazine has declared him the 'Best Guy to Talk to in a Room Full of Unfamiliar People' in their celebrity superlative spread. His interviewer has the last question on her lips, Percy's phone is vibrating, and Annabeth's name is on the caller ID.

"Sir?"

"Percy," he corrects for what has to be the seventh time, quickly sending Annabeth a text that says 'one second.' "Sorry, that was rude. What did you ask?"

She smiles nervously, clearing her throat. "Why do you like taking new celebrities under your wing? A few years prior you helped our up-and-coming star Jay Addison, followed by one Annabeth Chase, and a more recent Lauren Perna."

Publicity stunts, Percy answers inwardly, snorting to himself. Oh, god, he'd be burned at the stake for giving that response.

"Easy," he replies smoothly. "I understand what it's like to be in their position. I remember when I first started out in Hollywood, there wasn't really anybody guiding me around and showing me the ropes, so I know how scary it can seem to be on your own. I try my hardest to be helpful in that area because it's really nerve wracking to be put in all of these surreal situations without any direction on how to handle them. It's really no different from taking the new kid at school under your wing."

"Perfect." The woman clicks off her recorder. "So, you're scheduled for a photoshoot in a half hour. It shouldn't take long at all; they just need a few portraits to fit our yearbook theme."

"Cool," Percy says absently. He's tapping his phone in his pocket. "Where's it at?"

"Ask reception and they'll tell you."

She has to be talking at half-speed. "It was nice to meet you," he manages, sliding his phone out of his pocket. "I, um"—he gestures vaguely—"Call." He sounds like a caveman. Swell. With a final, short nod, he turns on his heel.

He searches for an empty hallway while the phone rings. It's a high possibility that he feels nauseous. The call had seemed like a wonderful idea at 12:30 A.M., but now his stomach is turning over. He thinks he has a fever.

This time, she picks up on the third ring. "Hey, what's up? You sounded a little unhinged in the voicemail you left."

Oh, God, she's worried. He can hear it. His face feels hot. "Oh, no, it was late. And then I realized that I didn't really plan what I was going to say? So it was more mumbling and less… Uh, message."

"Good, I was concerned," Annabeth tells him. She sounds apologetic. "So, how have you been?"

Four days, Percy thinks. That's all it takes for them to fall back into each other's gravitational pull. They're almost pathetic, in a way, but he finds that he's alright with that. "I've been good," he tells her. "I've been well, stop rolling your eyes at me."

"I was not rolling my eyes," Annabeth says, and by her tone he can tell that she definitely was. "Why did you call? Or, rather, what was so urgent at… What was it, midnight there?"

"Midnight," Percy affirms. "And I—" He stops himself. It occurs to him that he doesn't have a plan at all for this conversation. He hasn't offered himself a pre-game to pump himself up (read: a few sips of alcohol to subside the nerves). "It can wait, actually. If you want?"

"I don't want," Annabeth tells him. "But, if you want to drag this conversation out, that's fine." He hears a few raucous cheers through the line; imagines her waving like the star she is to fans just across the road. "So. I'm in Florida. What's cool here? Any sights I need to see?"

Percy latches onto that thread of conversation. "The beaches are nice, of course. I haven't been in a while, though, so there's no telling now. What city are you in?"

"Orlando." He hears music sneaking through Annabeth's side of the call.

"Theme parks, then. There are tons in Orlando. I think there's a space center, too? Probably a few museums. The theme parks are definitely worth it, though you'd probably like the lame historical things better."

"Of course I would," Annabeth answers primly.

"And that's why you're the biggest nerd in my life," Percy tells her, giving a forlorn sigh. He decides he wants to sit, so he lets his back slide down the wall. "What do you think you'll do?"

"A museum sounds like fun right now, but I'm meeting up with Thalia soon. She'll probably want to go to Universal, so that's most likely where I'll end up. Ready to talk about what you wanted to?"

Percy shrugs, picking at his shoelace. "Kind of. Not really, though. How's Thalia?"

"She's fine," Annabeth replies warily. "So what is this thing about? You're being weird."

He pins his phone between his shoulder and his ear, untying and retying his shoe. "I am not. I'm allowed to not want to talk about things I need to talk about."

"Yeah," she says shortly, and he shuts his eyes tight. "I know."

He drops forehead against his knee. He considers doing it over and over again, but Annabeth would probably question the noise. "That's not fair," he says, too softly. "You know I didn't mean it like that." He wraps one of his arms around his middle, trying to physically push all of his feelings back into his body, where they don't shine through in his speech. It doesn't work.

Annabeth sounds exhausted. "Yeah, I know. We do that a lot. Not meaning things like how we say them."

"You'd think we'd be able to say things more eloquently as artists," Percy says drily. Annabeth hums in agreement, and he hates the way he continuously messes up the balance they have. It's as if his subconscious won't let them be alright.

"I—" Percy starts, at the precise moment Annabeth says, "So—"

"You first," he tells her.

"I wasn't going to say anything important."

Everything you say is important, he thinks. For the first time in a while, he says what he's thinking. "Everything you say is important."

Annabeth doesn't answer, but it's better than her telling him to shut up. "Why'd you call?"

He inhales deeply, but it doesn't make him feel any less lightheaded. "I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to say."

"Percy, it's fine. I'm just getting concerned again, is all." She sighs. "Like, alright. I mean… Just because we aren't living with each other anymore, or attached at the hip, you know I still worry about you, right?" Percy stays quiet, purses his lips and closes his eyes so tight that they throb dully. "I'll see an interviewer asking you a rude question and I'll think 'that's not fair, I hope he's alright now' or I'll hear about some awful rumor that can't be true and I'll—"

"We should see each other again," he rushes out, and it sounds like a gasp; like he was just drowning and he's managed to keep his head above water for a few moments. "It's fine if you don't, I just. I thought it would be nice. To get lunch, or something? We don't even have to go out, if that's weird. I can still cook, I think, if that's easier or better and—"

"I'd like that," Annabeth says, interjecting gently. Percy lets the words echo in his mind for a while. "Yeah, we should. I'd—yeah. Sure."

Percy lets out a deep breath. "Oh. Um." He breaks off into a short chuckle, the tension evaporating from his tightly-wound body. "I didn't think you would say yes. This is cool."

"The coolest," Annabeth agrees, and she sounds like she might be teasing him. Teasing is good. He wants her to do that. They're quiet for a second, both lost in their own thoughts. "So that's what you got yourself all worked up about?"

"Shut up," Percy mutters. "I was scared you would say no." It wouldn't be the first time, he lets himself think, but orders himself to stop letting his mind drift that way. Feeling sorry for himself never helped anything.

"I have to go," Annabeth tells him. "You probably do too."

"I do." He clears his throat, pressing a smile into his shoulder. "Right. I'll see you."

"You will," she promises.

Percy does hit his head on the wall a few times after that, but it's with the intention of wiping the smile off his face. It hardly works.

;;

The best part about their vow to meet up when Annabeth returns is that he has three weeks to mentally prepare himself. He spends his days writing songs, even if the set list for his album has just been finalized, and attending anything Clint tells him to, even if he texts Annabeth under the table at most of them. He even arrives at some jaded artist's birthday party, leaving shortly after being offered acid for the sixth time.

Most of the time, Clint has to call his name four and five times before he manages to look up from his phone, and even if his manager sighs like he's the worst inconvenience in the world, Percy sees an underlying smile. "I'm happy for you and all," Clint usually says, "but I need you to take a break from Annabeth Land for a moment."

So, Percy will comply. And he'll lock his phone, smiling to himself when messages buzz through while he goes through the motions of being a celebrity.

Percy's lucky to be where he is. He's lucky for the friends he has and the people who care for him—but he can't help but let his mind wander. He wants to know how his life would have played out if he hadn't been fortunate enough to get his big break. He wonders if he would be in college now, if his mom would still be proud of him, if he would still sing for fun or if he would have given up.

He shares his thoughts with Clint, who frowns and asks Percy if he's been sleeping enough. He even asks his mother when he calls her on Sunday just to check in. She tells him that it doesn't matter who he was in another life, because he is who he is now. Neither of them are the answers Percy wants, so, naturally, he consults Annabeth.

Percy: How do you think I would be if I weren't famous?

Annabeth takes a while to reply. Percy's come to terms with the fact that he'll be spending the majority of his life waiting on Annabeth, but it's a detail he approaches with somewhat embarrassing fondness.

Annabeth: Probably swim team captain

Annabeth: Who bakes for the whole team on game days and sings in the shower

Annabeth: Why? Quarter-life crisis?

Percy considers that. His quarter-life crisis probably occurred when he knew Annabeth was leaving and he let her go anyways.

Percy: Not really. I've just been thinking

Percy: Like would we still have met? Or would I not even know who you were? Or would we go to the same school but never speak?

Percy: Theres just a lot of possibilities

Annabeth: And who am I at this potential school? Weird girl who sings off-pitch at talent shows?

Percy smiles at the thought.

Percy: Hardly. You would be class president. That girl thats really good at everything and is hated for it

Annabeth: What a role to play!

Percy: And do we speak? This is important

Annabeth: We talked once. I hate you because you shook your hair out like a dog and got water on my textbook

It brings a dull ache to his chest. There's a hazy memory of a Saturday morning when he had stumbled from the bathroom, fresh from a shower. There's Annabeth, still upset from a fight the night before, and there's him. He's trying to fix things, because it's his fault, and Annabeth refuses to look at him until he shakes his hair out. And she scoffs, and he laughs at the look on her face, and Annabeth smiles, and he kisses her and apologizes until he can't breathe and—

Annabeth: Alternatively, I'm the editor of the school paper and I interviewed you a time or two. I think you're okay but I also want you not to speak near me because you're an idiot

He inhales, exhales. He wishes she was underneath his arm rather than miles and miles away.

;;

"Ready?" Clint asks, holding his hand up to cue the camera man. This is, what, their fifth time recording this? It's not Percy's fault that he can't remember what to say.

"Ready," Percy affirms, rolling his shoulders. Clint gives him the signal, and Percy smiles. "Hey, guys. As you may know, my new album comes out on June 5th, in about two months. You can pre-order it by clicking on the link below, or you can wait it out to make sure you like it first. I'm really excited about this album because I got the opportunity to write more of the lyrics, and work with quite a few talented people." He knows there's something else he has to say, but his mind goes blank. Clint waves his hand until Percy looks at him, then he mouths 'merch store.' "Oh, and one more thing, there's tons of new merch on my website, which will also be linked for you below. Have a good day, guys!"

"You are a trainwreck," Clint groans as soon as the camera's stopped, only half-kidding. "I should just get Annabeth to do your announcements for you. At least she remembers what I say, and gets it on the first take."

Percy should probably scowl at that and take offense. He ends up smiling. "Yeah, she's great, isn't she?"

Clint makes a face like Percy is paining him, but the corners of his lips are turning up. "I haven't seen you this lovestruck since Katy Perry kissed your cheek."

"That was tragic. I wasn't even legal yet and I was in love with a twenty-five year old. Tragic," Percy stresses, shaking his head.

His manager only laughs. "Right, right. You're free to go. Get some rest. Fly to an island. Count the grains of sand on the beach."

Percy considers that. "D'you think they would let me stay there for that long?"

"Percy, I say this with love," Clint starts, "but please, please get a hobby."

He goes home for just long enough to change his clothes before heading back out. He meets up with Axe—a talented guy he'd written with a few times the previous month—and they get a late lunch before hitting a few shops. Axe considers purchasing his third electric guitar—a shocking blue that matches the color in his hair—and Percy fiddles around with a few acoustics. He has one that sits in the far corner of his music room, a standard Taylor guitar that he's had for ages.

Wondering if he should buy another one—he doesn't really need one, not many of his songs are easily played as acoustics—he turns the corner. That's when he sees it.

He stalks toward it immediately, hardly glancing at the price tag before pulling it up by the neck. Looking it over, Percy comes to the conclusion that it's perfect.

"Doesn't really seem like your style," Axe muses, wandering up behind Percy. "Didn't take you for a lavender kind of man."

"Lavender's nice," Percy defends, like it's his own favorite color rather than Annabeth's. "I just remembered that I never got a friend a birthday present."

Axe raises his eyebrows. "Must be a good friend if you're willing to spend that much."

Percy's not one to toss his bank account balance around, but he's hardly hurting for money. He can spare a couple thousand dollars. "Is it too much?"

"Are you trying to get laid?" Axe chuckles. "Pretty sure that'll do the trick."

Percy blushes a little (a lot), thumbing at the strings. "Kind of looking for something a little more sentimental."

Axe seems to sober up, placing a hand on his new friend's shoulder. "I'm sure she'll love it. Annabeth, right?"

Percy gives a nod. "Yeah."

"She likes purple?"

He bites the inside of his cheek, and it's ridiculous how hard he wants to smile. "It's her favorite. Lavender." Percy lifts the guitar a little.

"Well," Axe says, a little grin on his face, "never let it be said that Percy Jackson doesn't know how to make a grand gesture."

"So I should get it?"

"I have a feeling you're doing it regardless," Axe mentions. "I say go for it."

Percy nods to himself. He flags down the closest employee and leaves with a new guitar.

;;

Percy: What if

Percy: Potentially

Percy: I bought you something

Annabeth: Percy...

Percy: Don't look at me that way! It's a late birthday present that's all

Annabeth: I'm not looking at you at all, idiot. What is it?

Percy: You'll see in roughly 15 days

Annabeth: Is it a puppy?

Percy: Yes. I'm so original that I bought you a puppy.

Annabeth replies with an emoji that looks less that pleased, so, naturally, he smiles for five minutes straight. Same stupid adoration, different day.

;;

"Don't," Clint says warningly, eyeing Percy with distrust. "Percy. I will have you fired."

"You can't fire me, I'm your moneymaker." Percy replies serenely, throwing what must be his fourteenth jelly bean at Clint.

His manager frowns. "When assault becomes legal, I'm coming straight for you." Percy throws another bean, a green one that tastes like how grass smells. "Make that bludgeoning, I will end your life—"

Percy's phone rings loud and clear, an alarm he set the night before at Annabeth's request. "One hour," he announces, flipping over onto his stomach and groaning. He had set alarms at hourly increments, if only to get a feel for his time frame. The clock simply isn't ticking at a normal speed; he swears there was only an hour left two years ago. "One hour."

"One hour," Clint drones, less than amused with the sea of tossed jelly beans around him. "Are you planning on cleaning this up?" Percy turns over to give Clint a peeved look. "It might make the hour pass faster. That's all I'm saying."

Humming to himself, Percy tosses jelly beans in the air and tries to catch them in his mouth. "This should be an Olympic sport. I would apply."

"You've caught one, at most." Clint sighs, but starts picking up the jelly beans surrounding him, making one pile.

"Hey, mother hen, stop cleaning. What time do we leave to pick her up at 4?"

"The airport's not far at all. Maybe 3:30, 3:40 at the latest?" Percy nods in approval; catches a supposedly coconut flavored bean that really just tastes weird. "You're so anxious."

"I think you might be saying something," Percy answers, popping a few strawberry lemonade beans in his mouth to rid of the coconut, "but all I hear is 'Annabeth is going to be here in an hour.'"

"Anxious," Clint says again, shaking his head. "You sure you want to go the airport with me?"

"I already promised both of you that I would. Besides, I'm just sitting in the car. No sightings, so long as I remain under the radar."

"And that's the plan," Clint agrees. "Hey, can I have a few more of those yellow and white ones? They remind me of something and I can't figure it out."

After carefully consulting the back of his jellybean bag, Percy rolls his eyes. "Novice," he scoffs. "That would be buttered popcorn."

Clint sighs forlornly. "Of course, the one flavor that absolutely should not be a jelly bean flavor is the only one I like."

"It's alright. At least you don't like the black licorice ones, now that would be a friendship ender."

They both share a laugh at that. Clint stands from the couch to stretch, flopping back down without thought. Jellybeans fly in every direction. "Oops," Clint says, looking hardly bothered.

"You're cleaning that up." Percy accidentally eats a cherry bean, and it's downright horrible—tasting something close to that medicine they give people when they get a bad case of the flu. He downs a few blue raspberries to override the cherry. "I think one hit my TV," he adds thoughtfully. "What time is it?"

"It's been three minutes, Percy. Is time passing slowly for you? Are you anticipating something?" When Percy glances over at his friend, Clint waggles his eyebrows. "So, what? You don't tell me anything anymore. Am I going to have to pretend I can't hear you two making out in the backseat, or am I going to force laughter the whole way home to break the tension?"

Percy considers that. "Definitely not the first one," he decides. "Maybe the second one. I'm hoping for a nice medium? Hopefully we'll at least be able to hold a conversation."

"Still haven't told me why the conversations stopped in the first place," Clint comments idly. "Still wondering about that."

"Well, lots of people are," Percy reasons, grinning at his friend.

Clint pouts, his brown eyes immediately going into Sad Puppy Mode. "I'm not 'lots of people'! I'm a VIP!" The black-haired boy hums, as if to say whatever helps you sleep at night. Clint continues to frown. "It's just—I want to know. That's it. I won't even make you talk about it after you tell me."

Percy shrugs, his euphoria faltering the slightest bit. "There's not really much to tell. I wasn't lying when I said that in interviews." Clint stays quiet, expectant, and Percy splits a jellybean in half with his thumbnail. "It's hard to explain. We were just okay one day and not the next."

"But what made it 'just okay'?" Clint asks, almost gently. "I remember you guys being so close—and happy, too."

"We're happy now." Percy pauses. "Or at least, better, I guess. It was a little weird for a while there, after… you know."

"I don't know."

"But I told you…" He trails off, sitting up straight. A few jellybeans roll of his chest; Percy really should clean the mess, probably. "Didn't I?"

Clint blinks. "Do you think I would be asking if you did tell me?"

He has a point. Percy lies back down and rests his arm on top of his face. "We decided that we needed to choose whether we were together or if we were just friends. Annabeth picked just friends."

Clint stays silent. "I don't believe you. She wouldn't say that unless you did something to make her."

Percy scowls at his accusatory tone. "I didn't do anything!" He runs a hand through his hair and tugs at it, frustrated. He's refused to think about this for too long, probably. "I didn't expect her to say no, either. Things were so good the days before; there wasn't any distance or tension or anything, and it was just good. And we were fine, and I still don't understand what happened, Clint, so—"

"I get it," he interrupts, calmly. Percy exhales. "You don't have to tell me if it makes you upset."

"I was upset months ago," Percy admits with a shrug. "Then I had a pretty long confusion phase, where I just didn't understand why. But then me and Annabeth started talking again, and it was just easier to forget about the whole thing, honestly. I'm good now. She is, too." He seals his bag of assorted jellybean flavors and sets it on his coffee table. "I'm not—today won't change anything. I don't think. But…"

"You're still hoping?" Clint suggests. Percy nods quickly, a stilted jerk that looks almost painful. "That's understandable."

Percy scoffs. "It's stupid, actually. I think we've both made it pretty clear that our relationship is a no-go."

"Both of you?"

"Well, she has," Percy amends. "And if one member of the party says no then it doesn't really matter what the other member says."

Clint mulls over that. "But maybe the second member of the party could convince the first member that it's worth it?"

Percy looks ready to shoot Clint's idea down, but instead he nods. "Yeah, maybe." Clint can tell he doesn't mean it. "I mean. I would do almost anything to fix it, but I don't think there's much I can do at this point."

"But… try?"

Smiling a little, Percy looks at his friend. "Clint, you seem a little invested there, pal. Almost like you want this more than I do."

"You were good together," Clint informs him, boredly tapping at his phone screen. "I'm permitted to admire a relationship."

Percy decides not to acknowledge that; all it does is cause the words we were as good as we could have been to ring in his ears. "What time is it?"

"Oh, look at that. A full ten minutes have passed."

When it finally is time to get Annabeth, Percy's lying face down on the floor and refusing to leave.

"What if she ignores me?" Percy groans. "That would suck. I don't want to be ignored."

Clint sighs, nudging at Percy's side with his foot. "C'mon, up and at 'em. Let's go. I know you want to see her."

"I feel nauseous."

"You're acting like you're thirteen. You are a nearly 21 year-old man, Jackson. Get yourself together. Exes don't intimidate you. You eat nails for breakfast."

The pep talk at least brings a smile to Percy's face, but he frowns shortly after. "Hey, she's not my ex. That has such a negative connotation." Clint stares down at him passively. "Okay, I'm getting up. Put away your Disappointed Big Brother Eyes. They make me nervous."

"It's hard to believe that I'm barely a year your senior," Clint sighs, rolling his eyes, dusting off Percy's shoulders when he's stood up straight. "Now, come on. We have a blonde to pick up from the airport."

;;

The second Annabeth shuffles through the airport doors, speaking with Clint, it becomes very apparent that Percy tagging along to pick Annabeth up was a mistake. There are a few fans gathered outside and at least ten paparazzi taking a million pictures of something as simple as arriving home. She greets both the fans and the paparazzi, regardless of her bodyguard's recommendation, and Percy's hands are gripping the wheel too tight. He wrenches his eyes off Annabeth and stares at the whitened skin of his knuckles.

If he thought he felt nauseous before, he had no clue what was coming. It's not that he hasn't seen her in pictures—he can hardly scroll through his Twitter feed without seeing something, not to mention the fact that he follows her Instagram now—but it's significantly harder to breathe when her hand is on Clint's passenger side door, cameras flashing wildly as soon as she swings it open and settles inside.

Percy's too stunned that she's here—here as in next to him and breathing the same air and it wouldn't be hard at all to reach out and touch her—to realize that the paparazzi definitely got pictures of him, even if they'd had the foresight to drive Clint's car rather than his own. Clint slides into the backseat and her bodyguard follows.

"Boys," Annabeth says, apparently addressing Clint and Percy, "this is my bodyguard, essentially, even if he doesn't like that job title. His name is James."

Percy almost drops his head against the steering wheel. At least if he's unconscious, he doesn't have to feel drunk off the sound of her voice. "Hi, James," he manages, a little weakly, trying his best loosen his grip on the wheel so he can drive without breaking a finger.

"Greeting my bodyguard before me," Annabeth scoffs. "How rude."

Percy feels terribly out of place. A fish not just out of water, but halfway up the shore. He's not sure how to answer, not sure if he's supposed to laugh or cry or kiss her nose—if he's allowed to do any of those. With a tightening throat and lungs that seem to constrict without his permission, he's not sure he can do much at all. Say something, he coaches himself, but nothing falls to the forefront of his mind.

"That's your cue to tell me hello," she continues drily, and he can see the way she's turned towards him out of his peripherals. He forces his hands to let up on the wheel, flexing his fingers carefully.

Percy has to pause and breathe in deep before he can speak. Air doesn't enter his lungs as easily as he would like. "Hey, Annabeth. How are you?" He manages to look at her by the time the question's left his mouth, and she's smiling a little. He exhales.

She gives him a once over, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. He wants her to smile, even if he knows it'll just make him want to kiss her. "Hi, Percy. I'm fine, ready to be home, and you need a haircut."

It's simple enough, so Percy laughs. It sounds like he hasn't laughed in years, even if he's laughed tons of times since Annabeth left. "Yeah," he replies dumbly, pushing his mass of hair away from his eyes.

"Yeah," Annabeth repeats, still looking at him. She's definitely smiling, now, her dimples peeking out as she tries to rein the grin back in. He watches her for a second, trying to read her expression and decide how she feels. It's a weird feeling, having to relearn her faces, when there was a time he was more attuned to her expressions than anything else. A time where he could notice the smallest of shifts in her mood and know immediately how to adjust to that change. It's foreign now, like he has to relearn a language after months of disuse.

He bites the inside of his cheek. "It's nice to see you," he says finally, sounding a bit winded. Stellar. He's smooth. When he starts the car, he tears his eyes away from her. Maybe he should have let Clint drive, if only to ensure their safety. Percy has an inkling he'll spend most of the car ride stealing glances to his right.

"You, too," Annabeth tells him, barely discernible over the sound of the ignition turning over. Percy can hear Clint and James whispering in the backseat, so he adjusts the rear view mirror until he has a clear view of Clint's conspiratory smile. As soon as the brown-eyed man notices Percy's gaze, he sits back and looks out the window, a vision of innocence. Percy fixes his mirror.

"Where to?"

"Annabeth's house please," Annabeth herself says. "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed."

Your bed is one room over from mine, Percy thinks. Your home is our apartment. "You'll have to give me a few pointers. I'm not sure where it is." He glances at her briefly, a loaded look that has to hold a million things unsaid—or, at least, enough to make Annabeth look away a few seconds after they catch eyes.

She directs him to her house, softly mentioning when he should turn this way and that. He wants to ignore her directions; wants to drive her home, wants to flop down on her bed and run his hands through her hair while she sleeps. He wants so much. That was always the problem.

Ten minutes into the drive of near dead silence, Percy clears his throat. They're being stupid, he thinks, and he knows they're both dwelling on things they can't change. "How was the East coast?"

Annabeth drums her fingers on her knees. Percy finds himself distracted by the minute action. "It was fun."

"That's good." He bites his bottom lip into his mouth. "How was Disney?"

"Also fun," Annabeth replies. "Thalia only went with me to Universal, because apparently she's not much of a Disney fan. I didn't really ride all that much by myself. You can't imagine how uncomfortable it is saying you're a single rider. It was still fun walking around, I guess."

He smiles a little. "We can go sometime," Percy mentions, carefully. He cuts a glance over to her, slowing down for the red light up ahead. "Like, if you want to actually ride the rides without being a single rider."

Annabeth nods. "Okay," she says, a small smile playing at her lips.

"Okay," Percy repeats.

He can practically hear Clint rolling his eyes from the backseat. It might be the best part.

When they finally arrive at Annabeth's house, Percy whistles lowly. "Hey, this is a nice place. How big?"

"Three bedrooms and two bathrooms," Annabeth answers. "It sounds like a lot but I wanted the room for when friends or family visit, I guess? Hotels around here are expensive."

Percy hums. "Thoughtful."

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."

Ten seconds pass in dull silence. Annabeth doesn't make any move to get out, and both Clint and James are quiet. Percy can't hear much over his heartbeat, because Annabeth is here and he didn't have enough time and now she's leaving and what if he doesn't get to see her after this? What if she meets someone and cuts off communication again?

Just the thought has his stomach plummeting. It's a very real fear, losing Annabeth. And he knows what happens after; knows all about the nights where it's hard to sleep because blond curls aren't tickling his chin; knows how difficult it can be to roll out of bed when there aren't soft hands pushing at his back; knows how lonely and quiet it gets on nights that should have been spent falling further in love. Percy knows what happens, and it's something he wouldn't wish upon his most hated enemy.

"You could walk me to my door," Annabeth suggests lightly, startling him. He grips the wheel too tight. "Or you could kick me out of your car, at the very least."

Percy scoffs. "As if. And I was going to walk you anyways, but someone's not getting out of my car."

Annabeth punches him in the shoulder, and he tries his hardest not to categorize it as a lover's caress. "Get out, idiot," she mutters. Percy takes it as a compliment.

He shoulders one of her bags, safely tucked away in his trunk, and grabs the larger suitcase as well. Annabeth takes the final bag and closes the trunk for him, and Percy can't help but think how similar the image is to the night they finished their joint tour. He remembers Annabeth smiling and glad to be home, he remembers falling onto the couch and going to sleep tangled together. It hurts that he has to remember these things. It hurts that they aren't happening on a regular basis, it hurts how badly he's messed it all up, like he usually does.

Annabeth digs out her keys from the smallest duffle bag while Percy stares at the plants on either side of the walkway. It's a relief to stand outside, knowing for a fact he's not being photographed, thanks to the security guards that wave only residents and approved visitors through the gate. "This really is a nice place," he tells her, genuine.

"Thanks." She finally grasps onto her keys, humming happily. "It is nice. The neighbors are friendly, too. Both old couples who are living off of loads of savings and retirement money. I think Penny and Paul—blue house—both worked in the entertainment industry, too."

"That's cool," Percy replies, standing still while Annabeth nudges the door open with her foot. She walks a few paces inside before turning and scowling at him. "Oh. Do I—?"

"Yeah, you're coming in," Annabeth says, as if offended at the thought of him remaining outdoors. He bites the inside of his cheek and steps in. "I could barely carry that suitcase the day we left, I doubt I could manage it now," she continues, flicking on various lights as she moves further into the house. "Plus... I think we needed a moment. It was a little weird with Clint and James, yeah?"

She drops the bags in her spacious living room. Percy mimics the action. "Only a little," he politely agrees.

"'Only a little,'" Annabeth mocks, doing a horrible job of sounding like him. He smiles widely. "You still wanted to get lunch sometime, right?"

He pauses for a moment, just to stare at the way she wrings her hands together—nervous—and squares her shoulders—determined—and blinks quickly three times—tired. "Of course."

"Good," Annabeth says. It almost sounds relieved, and Percy aches and aches and aches because she was worried he would say no.

He realizes then that she's just as scared as he is. She's just as worried about getting radio silence, just as worried she'll be pushed out of his life again.

Annabeth shoves her hair away from her face and Percy makes an aborted move to reach out and touch. Instead, he grips onto his own shoulder tightly and clears his throat. "I'll call you," he promises. "We'll get lunch." Annabeth watches him, gauging his honesty, before she nods.

Percy rubs his shoulder a few times, wondering how he should phrase his next question. He's not sure he even wants to ask, out of fear that he would make their slow mending process shudder and stall out.

Annabeth looks expectant. "You and I both know you're about to ask a question."

Percy coughs shortly. "You don't know that," he answers, just to be difficult.

She rolls her eyes. "Please. You always tilt your head a little bit forward when you ask questions, and that's what you're doing now."

Percy makes it a point to keep his head up straight. Annabeth smiles and purses her lips to rein it back in. "Would it be weird," Percy starts, "if I wanted to hug you?"

Annabeth seems to consider. "Probably a little." He nods immediately in understanding, even if it stings. "But I wouldn't mind, for the most part."

"For the most part," he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

She narrows her eyes. "Just don't elbow me in my side again and we're good."

Percy laughs, steps up into her space and wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders. "'Percy, seriously, I need a doctor. I have internal bleeding,'" he mocks, smiling into her hair at the memory. It still smells like lemons and something flowery.

"It really hurt!" she protests against his shoulder. "I thought it was the end." The hug is nice, but it's not quite right. Their limbs don't slot together quite as easily as they used to.

"Yeah, well. You were feeling theatrical that night." He remembers quite a few requests to act out the songs in Grease. He also remembers a delighted smile from Annabeth, a soft laugh, an amused muttering of you're a natural Danny Zuko.

"I still can't believe you were Kenickie when your school did Grease. You are such a Danny."

"That's my name, don't wear it out," he says blandly. He gets a laugh out of her, and it might be the highlight of his month. "I should go."

She nods, chin sharp on his shoulder. He squeezes her closely for a few seconds before stepping away. "Don't forget to text me."

"As if," Percy says, and because it sounds too honest, he tacks on an "As If I Could."

"Don't quote me at me." She smiles, though, something almost shy. "So is that your favorite song off the new album?"

The thing is, Percy still hasn't listened to the album. He has, however, read the song titles enough times to engrain them permanently in his mind. As If I Could is maybe his favorite title, but he really has no clue what the song is about. He nods anyways. "Yep."

"I had a feeling it would be," she tells him, but still gives him an once-over like he's surprised her. His chest feels far too warm. "Go on. Drive the others home. Let me sleep."

Percy does just that, heading for the door. "I'll see you later!" he calls out, hand on the doorknob, but—

There's a picture frame, just next to the door. It's a frame that had been in Annabeth's room for as long as he could remember with pictures of all her closest friends—Thalia, Silena, and himself. His slot used to be a picture of them being silly in his car, but it's been replaced since then with the one of them at the beach. His favorite one, where Annabeth's cheek is against his shoulder and her smile is ridiculously wide.

Annabeth calls back her goodbye, and he forces himself to walk out the door.

;;

Percy: How was your first night back at your house?

And he won't call it her home, because he's a sick, sick guy who still has hope no matter how many times he tries to snuff out the embers. It's 8 A.M. on a Saturday, and he's hoping she's still sleeping soundly.

He makes himself a huge breakfast because he has the time for it. It's also far too much food, but it'll be nice to have it for when he doesn't feel like cooking later that night. He checks in with Clint, tweets something about breakfast, and goes over his song lyrics in his head so he won't embarrass himself on his radio performance that has to be sometime this week. All of the dates tend to run together after a while, so Percy just goes by what Clint tells him, usually the day of or the day before.

There's something in his chest that's settled since Annabeth came back. Something emotion that's reassured and content, and definitely not his to feel.

Much to Percy's concern, Annabeth replies within ten minutes.

Annabeth: I've been awake since 6 am please save me

Percy frowns, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knows firsthand how rough timezone hopping can be, but he had hoped Annabeth would be able to at least get a few more hours of sleep.

(And it's his bias, maybe, but he distinctly remembers Annabeth sleeping soundly for hours when they jumped from timezone to timezone. Percy wants to believe that it was him that helped her sleep so easily, but he's not so sure he deserves the luxury of hope extended quite so far.)

He stares at the huge stack of pancakes he's whipped up, and it's almost too easy.

Percy: Are you hungry?

It's a longshot, he supposes, but it's worth the ask. He's spent all of eight minutes with Annabeth alone and it's probably the only thing he's thought about since the moment their time was over.

Annabeth: I wasn't until you said something and now I'm looking in my cabinets and all I have is an expired box of Cheerios :(

Percy bites the edge of his tongue. He tries to type out an invitation, but it proves to be an issue when his hands won't stop shaking. And that—well, that's it. Annabeth coming back was disorienting enough, not to mention being in her presence and feeling the familiarity of their dynamic. The worst part might have been the way he almost blurted a million 'I love you's in the span of a half hour.

They're falling back into their old habits, Percy knows. They're avoiding what they can't handle and clinging to what they can. He wonders how long they can procrastinate the conversation.

Percy digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. When the conversation comes, he'll be honest and answer any questions she has without restraint. For now, he just has to dial her number and ask her to come over and eat breakfast. It's not a big deal, he thinks—or, rather, convinces himself—as he calls her.

"Yes?"

Percy closes his eyes. "Hey, want breakfast?"

"God, you are a lifesaver. Where am I meeting you?"

He smiles and taps his fingers on the counter. "My apartment." He forces himself not to say at home because it's far from fair. "If that's alright?"

"Give me 15 minutes depending on traffic." He hears keys jingling. "I'm expecting your most extravagant of breakfasts."

"Nothing but the best for the Annabeth Chase!" Percy crows. It's meant to be mocking. He probably sounds more proud of her than anything.

"Shut up." And, well, it's a nice way to end a call, or at least it's enough to make him smile.

Percy whips up everything he knows how to, from sunny-side up eggs to French toast. There's no way they'll be able to eat it all, but cooking gives him something to do with his hands while he waits for her to arrive.

Five minutes before Annabeth's due, he changes his shirt (four times). He's not that worried about his appearance, not really (he is). He just has a few specks of... butter on his shirt. Or something (there's not a single speck on his shirt).

He's just pulling a plain grey t-shirt over his head when his doorbell sounds. Percy freezes, his right arm half-way through the sleeve. "Oh God," he mutters, shoving it on haphazardly. It's wrinkled. "Oh God, oh god, oh god." The doorbell sounds again. Percy is going to be sick.

He rushes to the door, nearly tripping over a shoe in his hallway. He doesn't even think it's his shoe—does he even own classic oxfords?

Percy opens the door a little short of breath, and Annabeth pushes her way inside without prelude. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," she mutters, immediately standing on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole.

She loses her balance a little and catches herself on the door. Percy does a very awkward hover-hand around her hip, not quite touching but definitely prepared to catch her. It makes his heart sink, mostly because, months ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to rest his hand on her waist to unnecessarily steady her; wouldn't have thought twice about letting his fingertips brush the skin between the hem of her shirt and the jeans she's wearing. He pulls his hand away like he's been burned. "Uh, everything alright?"

"I thought I was being followed," she whispers, still looking through. "I swear."

"You know you don't have to whisper, right? They can't hear you."

Annabeth drops down, feet flat. "If there's pictures of me entering your house..."

There's a burning in his chest, something slow and painful. She makes it sound like a horrible thing, and he knows it is, but it doesn't hurt any less. "It's fine. I'll tell Clint right now and he can just buy off the photographers or something. It's not hard to get pictures removed. We had to do that when I got you from the airport anyways. Breakfast?"

Annabeth looks hesitant before she nods. "I'm starved."

He leads her into the kitchen, and her eyes widen at the buffet laid out. "Percy, I was joking when I said that thing about an extravagant breakfast."

"And I was nervous while I was waiting for you so I just kept cooking," he blurts, scuffing his socked foot on the ground. "Some people stress eat—"

"Or stress-improve-their-hygiene."

Percy grins dumbly at the ground. "Yeah, that too. I stress cook. Or bake. Both."

Annabeth isn't beaming, but her face is bright and happy. He almost reaches out to touch the light pink of her cheeks, but tucks both his arms behind his back instead. "As long as you made my eggs right."

"And I did."

A small smile peeks through. "Good."

"Good," he echoes.

"Stop repeating me," Annabeth says, but she doesn't sound like she means it.

He pinches his own arm, manages to suppress a manic grin, and gestures to the food on the table. "Eat?"

Annabeth sits down and she eats, complimenting Percy's cooking until he's warm down to his toes. She tells him a few stories from her short tour that she forgot to mention during their phone calls. He listens diligently, laughs when it's probably not needed and smiles for the entire two hours she's in his home. When she leaves, he bites back a smile for the benefit of no one except himself.

It takes him another hour to clean up the mess they left, but he figures that's nothing compared to the months he's spent sorting out the wreck Annabeth left in her wake.

;;

Two days later, he does an acoustic radio performance of three songs: his initial breakout single, a slow ballad, and the brand new chart topper he just released. When he exits the building, he's met with tons of fans begging for pictures or hugs. He gives out as many as he can before his security guard grunts and shoves him along.

As soon as he's situating himself in the backseat, his phone starts ringing. "Yes?" he answers with a grin.

"Come have lunch with me."

Percy pauses. "Uh, where?"

Annabeth laughs. "Relax, pal. It's lunch at my place. I ordered way too much pizza."

He has to ask. "Was it intentional?"

"Stop asking questions. I know you're hungry. See you soon!" She hangs up immediately after.

Percy stares at his phone. "Ben, change of plans. I'm having lunch at a friend's."

;;

If Percy stops to think about it, he knows he'll think too much. So, in his typical form, he jumps in head first even when there's a very clear sign that says 'NO DIVING'. The metaphorical pool being Annabeth.

"This movie is stupid," Annabeth tells him, and Percy's more than aware. They've mostly been staring at the screen in silence, not even wincing at the supposedly scary movie. There's two emptied pizza boxes scattered on the coffee table and Annabeth looks like she's comfortable; relaxed and soft.

"I know."

"Like. Percy. It really sucks."

He smiles a little, a small laugh bubbling out of him. "I know."

"I'm not even following the plot. Is she being exorcised now? When did we even decide she was demonic?"

Percy laughs more, crossing his arms comfortably over his chest. "This is why we never watched scary movies. They literally don't phase us."

"Yeah, but you cried at the end of The Lion King once." Percy opens his mouth to protest, but Annabeth raises an eyebrow. "You can lie all you want, but I saw tears."

He holds her gaze for a moment longer before smiling and sinking further into her couch. "Hmm, maybe."

"Definitely," she corrects. "So, speaking of awesome but unnecessary gifts, what was it that you got me?"

Percy opens one eye to look at her skeptically. "We were talking about no such thing."

She very nearly pouts. "Well, now we are. What is it?"

"It's a book on the history of salt," Percy lies, offering a shrug. "I thought you would find it interesting."

Annabeth appraises him, tapping her jaw twice. "You're lying."

"Am not."

"Are too," she persists, gesturing vaguely at him. "You scrunch up your nose a little bit every time you lie. Like you don't really want to lie, but you are anyways."

Percy opens both eyes and stares at her, trying to quell the warmth in his chest. "I really bought you a book about salt."

"I'm sure you didn't. What did you buy me, seriously?"

"For an apparently 'unnecessary gift' you seem pretty interested in it," Percy comments, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. He watches her narrow her eyes and clench her jaw to ensure her expression doesn't shift into something like his.

"Everyone likes gifts." Percy cocks his head to the side thoughtfully and nods, offering no response. "Now you're just doing this to make me mad. Tell me what it is!"

"It'll ruin the whole point of a present," Percy informs her. "I present you with it. Not tell you what it is then hand it over later."

"I'm just going to guess until your expression gives you away, then. Is it… a car?"

Percy raises his eyebrows. "Don't set the standards that high, Jesus. You'll make my gift look bad."

Annabeth takes the information in, looking up to the left. "Is it… a book?" Percy tries not to let his face give anything away, but Annabeth nods. "Okay, so it's not a book. Is something I need?"

"This isn't twenty questions—"

"So it's not something I need." She watches his face closely, and Percy feels heat rush to his cheeks. It's stupid and childish, but Annabeth focusing on him still renders him nervous and jittery. "Is it…"

Percy sighs, buries his hands in his face. "Nooo, stop guessing. You're going to ruin my surprise."

Annabeth huffs, but appears to admit defeat. "Fine. If you were a good friend, you would have just brought it over here with you."

"I was more worried about the pizza, to be honest. I hadn't eaten all day." He grins impishly, and Annabeth offers up a scowl. "Thanks for that, by the way. I'm still finding it hard to believe that you 'accidentally' ordered pineapple pizza, since I'm pretty sure that's your least favorite thing in the world, but—"

"So!" Annabeth claps her hands together once, a beatific smile on her face. Percy wants to kiss the place where her jaw and her neck meet. "Thirsty? Coffee? Tea? Water? Arsenic?"

"Oh, the last one, definitely," Percy says drily, rolling his eyes. "Coffee, please."

Annabeth lifts her chin. "I'll add an extra touch of arsenic, just for you."

She leaves the room, and Percy watches her until she disappears around the corner. The thing is, he knew he never really fell out of love with Annabeth. However, he'll admit that it's disconcerting to have his stupid adoration back, jumping to the forefront of his mind and clouding everything else.

He sets his eyes back on the screen, watching two scared kids cower in the corner. He very nearly rolls his eyes; scary movies are more comical than they are terrifying, at least to him. Regardless, he watches the screen diligently until Annabeth returns with a cup of coffee for him.

He's holding his hand out for it before she even arrives at the couch. Annabeth scoffs while Percy smiles and takes the cup from her, muttering out a "Thanks, babe."

And then there's extremely hot coffee on his hand. He's talking some sort of volcanic lava that's searing his skin. Reflexively, he jumps back, coinciding with Annabeth's profuse apologies. "Sorry, sorry, I—wasn't—you're okay? I'm so sorry, I—"

Percy dries his hand off with his shirt, gritting his teeth at the pain and at the way his stomach drops. Babe, he thinks, inwardly groaning. He feels hot all over, but it might just be the third degree burn he now has from the beverage. "Don't worry; it's not the first time I've been burned." He pauses, realizing how he let the sentence drop off. "By coffee. Burned by coffee. It happens all the time."

Annabeth doesn't move, her shoulders tense. Percy can hardly catch her facial expression before she's setting the coffee on the table and exiting the room without a word. He bites his hand in retaliation to his own actions. Every time they manage to maintain normality, he can't keep his composure.

She doesn't return for at least ten minutes, so Percy stands with a purpose. He's going to walk into that kitchen and they're going to talk about this huge, unavoidable thing they keep managing to sidestep, by millimeters at most. Percy had this vision in his mind; this gradual, calm lead-in to the conversation so far down the road that they had both nearly forgotten what had driven them apart. And it would be easy to talk about it then, when it wasn't quite so recent and stinging. That's what he wanted, but Percy learned a few months ago that you can't always get what you want.

"Oh, I—" Percy turns to see Annabeth holding a blue washcloth with both hands, gripping onto it like a lifeline, with a confused dip to her eyebrows. "You're leaving?" she asks, and it's soft and breakable.

Percy can't look away, but she can. She fixes her eyes to the ground. "Should I?"

"You—" Annabeth stops herself, visibly swallowing. Her hands clutch the cloth tighter, and he watches a few drops of water hit the ground. That's how it feels sometimes, too, like they're squeezing the last drop of life out of each other. Her shoulders lift as she inhales deeply; lips pursing into a thin line and jaw setting into something determined and knowing. "Maybe you should," Annabeth says, finally, voice carefully flat.

Percy expected the answer, but it doesn't keep his heart from dropping to the cold, hard ground. "Then I will."

He pats his pockets to check for his phone and his wallet, knowing he'll have to call a car but deciding he'll take care of it after he leaves. If Annabeth wants him gone, there's no reason to linger just to drag out how much it hurts that things can't go right for them, no matter the effort they put forth.

He glances at her, looking for some sort of sign that says please don't go; something that says I don't know what just happened or can we talk. All he gets is a shift in her shoulders that says she wants to be alone, loud and clear.

Because he's not sure if it's his to say, Percy waits until his hand is on her door to say "I'm sorry." It's so quiet he can't even be sure that he said it at all, but it's the only two words running through his mind. The doorknob feels like there's a fire on the other side compared to the icy temperature of his skin.

Percy leaves. He closes the door before he can hear Annabeth's soft whisper of "wait" and doesn't see the way she stares at the space where he was, hoping he'll walk right back in.

;;

Percy sleeps on the couch. Annabeth doesn't call, doesn't text, and doesn't show up on his doorstep. Clint tells him he can go out today, if he wants, even suggests that he bring a friend—friend directly translating to Annabeth—and Percy replies with a candid "no." Clint doesn't question it.

He stays in his music room, pressing down on piano keys but not playing anything particular. He listens to the sound every key makes, creating a disjointed song that'll never be anything pretty. He can't even muster the energy to look for a pencil, and even if he could there's not much he could write down. This is what he was trying to avoid at all costs—what he hates most about himself without Annabeth. It almost sickens him that he falls apart at the seams every time she turns away from him. He wishes that he could handle himself the same way she does; wishes he had been taught how to sew himself back up and soldier on in the manner she finds so easy.

He stares at the black and white keys until his eyes start blurring and stinging and there's something confused and angry and sad all at once that thrums in his veins. He raises a hand to slam the piano keys out of frustration, but instead drops them softly, the instrument letting out a soft tone.

It takes him a while to find his laptop, but he eventually pulls it out of a laundry basket (he doesn't even want to know how it got there, Percy swears his laundry room is something of the Narnia-wardrobe breed). He starts up iTunes, searches Annabeth's name, and doesn't let himself think before he clicks on As If I Could.

Percy stays right there, resting his weight against the washing machine, and forces himself to listen. And he winces when he hears lines that are all about him; lets out a hurt sound when he hears the don't hang on to something that's gone, exhales when he hears the take your time to figure it out, pulls at his own hair when the song fades out and the last words she sings are I was told to stop loving you, as if I could.

And it burns. It burns so much that he's scared moving a single inch will send everything around him up in flames. The next song that comes on is upbeat, probably due to be her summer single, but he pauses it. Breathes in, breathes out, and stares at the wall like it'll answer all the questions he has.

It's barely a minute before he starts moving. He runs from room to room searching for his phone and his wallet and his keys, his thoughts coming and going before they can develop fully. He leaves his house before he can even change his shirt, and he's halfway to his destination before he realizes that it's the same thing he wore the day before.

When he gets to the gate, the guard thankfully waves him through, recognizing his car and his name. Percy thinks about questioning it, asking something selfish like 'has she added me to the list?' but he finds his mind won't slow down enough to allow such an action.

He has to ring the doorbell three times before it occurs to him that she's not home. Tracing the ridges of the doorbell, Percy sobers up, his pulse settling back into something far more regular. He calls Clint before he's even made it back to his car.

"Hello, Percy, how are you on this—?"

"Where is she?" He starts his car, backing out of the driveway a little too fast to be safe. Calm his pulse as he might, the adrenaline still hasn't left his bloodstream.

"Slow down, man, where's the fire?" Clint sounds amused. "She's at a photoshoot, just got there if she's on time."

"Where?" Percy asks again, reminding himself to go the speed limit. A ticket is the last thing he wants right now.

"What is going on?"

"Clint, just—"

"Tell me or I'm not telling you," Clint says, none too gently. "I'm your manager and your friend and you can't keep me out of the loop forever."

Percy huffs, annoyed, smiling at the man at the gate. He's a nice guy; Percy appreciates him. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm in a hurry, so… Yesterday I went over to Annabeth's, we ate pizza and watched a few movies, then she offered me coffee and when she brought it to me I accidentally called her 'babe.' We had a weird not-argument thing that was still an argument and so I left. Then today I decided it was time I listened to her album—"

"Jesus, take a breath or two," Clint says. Percy takes his advice. "You haven't listened to the album?"

"I was scared to. Long story short, listened to a song, realized that I am an idiot, and now I have to go apologize so can I please, for the love of god—"

"I'll text you the address. Head north."

;;

Percy heads north. It takes him twenty minutes to arrive at some studio whose name he doesn't care about. He does, however, remember to look for a back entrance to avoid any paparazzi that linger around the front doors.

A security guard greets him at the back access, crossing his arms to look intimidating. Percy knows the game and hopes his name will be enough for the guard to let him through. Before he's even properly in front of the man, he's calling out a "I'm Percy Jackson, can I get in?"

He raises an eyebrow, but opens the door. "Everything alright, sir?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Percy says, trying to sound as calm as he possibly can. The man nods his head and assumes his position.

It soon becomes apparent that the studio is huge, with at the very least fifteen individual rooms where an actual photoshoot goes on. Percy glances to the left and to the right, groaning quietly at the amount of doors in his field of vision.

"Are you lost, Mister...?"

Percy turns gratefully, a sigh of relief on his lips. "Hi, yeah, I'm Percy Jackson." He sticks out a hand, formal as ever, and the woman raises a surprised eyebrow. "I'm actually looking for Annabeth Chase, if you happen to know where she is?"

The woman's eyebrows raise. "The rumors are true, then..." She gives him a thoughtful once over that makes him shift, a little uncomfortable. One would think that, at some point, Percy Jackson would get used to the feeling of people's eyes on him. "Follow me."

She starts walking and Percy's brain finally catches up. "Wait, rumors?"

"Percabeth," the woman replies easily. "You know. I hope you know?"

"I know," Percy affirms. "Uh, sorry. I'm not even sure I want to know about the rumors, actually."

"Nothing bad, at least not from what I've heard. A few skeptics, but..."

Percy nods. The usual. "I didn't catch your name."

She smiles at him over her shoulder. "I never said it. I'm Olivia Barnes. I own this studio, actually."

He's impressed, he'll admit. She can't be over 30 and she's already raking in thousands. "Impressive," he offers, after nothing else comes to the forefront of his mind. He's reading the signs on every door, recognizing a few names here and there. The majority of them are probably actual models, and Percy's not well acquainted with their names.

"Ah, here we are. This should be your Annabeth." She taps a door twice. There's a sign that reads 'ANNABETH CHASE' in bold, black letters. He blinks at it and does a poor job of concealing his blush at the 'your Annabeth' comment.

"Thank you." He reaches for the door handle, mentally psyching himself up. "Olivia," Percy adds.

She smiles brightly. "You are very welcome, Mr. Jackson. Best of luck with Annabeth."

It's a friendly bidding, maybe a habit more than anything else, but it's enough to encourage him to open the door and step inside.

Annabeth is sitting off to the side, wincing as a woman tugs and pulls at her hair. "Curls are so disobedient at times," the woman complains, huffing as she one-handedly reaches for a brush. Annabeth rolls her eyes, and Percy smiles because—well. He loves her, mostly, probably would smile at her doing the most mundane of things.

He also considers warning the stylist that brushing Annabeth's hair is probably the worst idea in the world. He had insisted on trying it out once, pestering Annabeth until she finally shoved a brush into his hands to appease him. After that, he had learned not to question Annabeth's knowledge on her own hair.

He doesn't want to interrupt, but he figures it's one of those moments where he can pull celebrity status, even if he's not such a huge fan of tossing his weight around. He approaches the photographer. "Uh, hi," Percy starts, a little hushed. "Would it be alright if I borrowed Annabeth for a few seconds?" The guy appraises him, distaste and wariness clear on his face. "I'm Percy Jackson," he adds, holding out a hand to shake.

The photographer's gaze doesn't change in the slightest, but he nods. "If you must. We're starting back up in five."

Percy sighs in relief. "Thank you." The man replies with nothing but a hum, fidgeting with some settings on his camera that are car beyond Percy's comprehension.

There's music playing, loud enough that it's masked the exchange between Percy and the photographer. He turns, inhales deeply, and walks towards Annabeth's chair.

Her stylist stops mid-sentence, sending him a weird look. Annabeth turns to see what she's looking at, blinking twice before she speaks. "Percy?"

"Hi," he says on an exhale, waving sheepishly to the stylist. "Um. Talk, over here, please?"

She raises both of her eyebrows, and he tries to give her a meaningful look. Her stylist huffs and turns away, like she's giving them some thin veil of privacy. Annabeth shuffles over to him, something akin to vexation on her face. "I'm busy—"

"I know. I called Clint to see where you were, so I figured you would be." Annabeth squints at him a little, so he smiles sheepishly. "That was, uh, after I drove to your house and realized you weren't home."

She appears to gain interest, so Percy blurts out more of the story. "So I listened to that song. The As If I Could one. And I wasn't being honest when I said it was my favorite because I had never heard the album at all before today."

"What—?"

"I used to stare at the track list but I never got the guts to listen to it," he rushes out, glancing at the photographer and rubbing at his jaw. "I have a lot to explain in five minutes. Can I skip ahead to the apology and we'll sort the rest out later?"

Annabeth is confused but still looks like she wants to smile, so Percy grins little by little until she does. He wants to kiss her until he's lightheaded, and then some. Her eyes look like springtime to him, even if they're a cool grey, lacking the color most flowers have. "You may apologize."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Gee, thanks for the permission." It takes him a second to shift out of lovestruck and into earnest. "I'm sorry."

Annabeth nods, glances down at her toes. "I know. Me too."

"I shouldn't have left, I think," Percy says hesitantly.

"I told you to."

"Yeah, but... We've established that we don't always say what we mean, so maybe I should have ignored you." Annabeth purses her lips, eyes bright when she gives him a once over. "Yeah, I should have ignored you. We, um—can we do a promise-thing?"

"Promise-thing?" Annabeth echoes.

Percy holds out a pinky, and Annabeth wraps hers around his before he even speaks. He's smiling stupidly when he says, "From now on, we'll talk about things. No more pushing it aside."

"Avoidance has appeared to cause us an issue or two," Annabeth agrees, her thumbnail pressing idly into his palm. He very nearly kisses her, for no apparent reason besides the fact that she's herself. "Pinky swear?"

"I pinky promise we will talk about this," Percy says, squeezing her smallest finger gently. "All of it."

"All of it," Annabeth repeats, cautious.

He untangles their pinkies and daringly grips her hand instead, fingers tentatively lacing together. Annabeth doesn't yank her hand away, at the very least, so Percy's stomach turns over from happiness and nerves. "All, all, all of it."

"All, all, all of it." She grins up at him, so brightly and stunningly and joyfully that he loses his breath for a moment. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She laughs. Percy holds her hand tighter and—this, this, this is mending.

"Photoshoot," he reminds her, releasing her from his hold. "Go. Call me after." Percy can't stop smiling widely, and Annabeth has no trouble returning the gesture. He itches to say I love you before he leaves, but it's not fair, not yet.

Annabeth laughs to herself before she turns, her eyes sparkling like some fictional Disney character. Percy forces himself to exit the room before he does something ridiculous, like kiss every inch of her face until the photographer escorts him out of the room.

;;

"What happened?" is how Clint answers Percy's call.

"It's fine. We're talking when she's done." His smile has faded from full-on and blinding to soft and sweet and very much in love.

"You sound happy." Clint does, too. "Good news?"

"Great news." Percy smiles at the stoplight for the hell of it. Stoplights don't get enough love. "I think..." He breaks off, biting the inside of his cheek. He knows it's not set in stone yet. He knows it's not guaranteed that everything'll be fixed after this, but he can't help but hope for the best.

"You think?"

Percy lets himself say it. "I think we're going to be okay."

"Okay? Or okay okay?" Clint asks, sounding gravely serious. "Or is it more of an okay okay okay?"

Percy laughs, and he sounds as cheerful as he feels. "I don't know. I just. You know. Love her and all."

"Yeah, I know," Clint says in a teasing tone. "You've made that abundantly clear."

Percy tugs at his own hair a little. "I'm going to be so pissed if this is a dream."

Clint barks out a laugh. "You and me both."

Percy waits for Annabeth to call. He taps out idle tunes on his piano, unlocking and locking his phone a million times.

This is it, he knows. It's what every part of the past 9 months have been leading up to; an eventual resolution to their major conflict and the last page of their book. He finds himself hoping it's not a tragedy.

;;

It starts with a phone ringing. Sunday Morning by Maroon5, a song they always found themselves belting out on the tour bus.

The second step is an arrival. She takes just under 30 minutes to find her way home—home to him, not home to her house. There's a difference.

The third step comes in fits and starts. He explains, lets himself reach out and touch her hand gently when her face shows how upset she is. She interjects with bits of her own point of view. There's times where they can't stop talking over each other and there are moments of brutal silence, where neither can decide what to say. They watch each other instead.

The fourth step happens with a sense of desperation. He hugs her so tightly he worries he'll crush her ribcage, and Annabeth sniffles against his shoulder—not quite crying but not quite not-crying either. And he'll rub and scratch gently at her back until the small trembles leave her body, and she'll push at his shoulders until he takes the hint and lies down. She'll rest her head on his chest, eavesdropping on his heartbeat, and he'll focus on breathing normally.

The fifth step occurs without either of their permission. They fall asleep, Annabeth's lullaby being Percy's measured breaths. He finds it's far easier to drift off when he doesn't feel like he's missing a limb.

The sixth step is the morning after. Annabeth leaves with a mug of coffee and a blush on her cheeks, still feeling Percy's warmth all around her and still seeing the way his eyes drifted down to her lips thoughtfully. The buzzing underneath her skin doesn't fade easily.

The last step is a deep breath. It feels like the first inhale after nearly drowning—delicate and scared, strong and relieved, and, above all, hopeful.

;;

"Now?" Percy asks, looking around the living room. There's laundry covering nearly every square inch. He's not even sure what's clean or what's dirty anymore. "You want to come over now?"

"Am I interrupting anything?" Annabeth questions, sounding more amused than offended. "Yes, I was planning on coming over now. We haven't really seen each other for the past week, you know."

Percy knows. He'd spent the majority of his free time glancing at his phone and hoping for Annabeth's reply to buzz through. The past three weeks had been a whirlwind, from making things right with Annabeth to having three and four interviews a day. His mother had called him not even an hour ago, casually asking what was new and not-so-casually asking if he was keeping up with his laundry. Which explains his current position, flat on his back with whites on his left side and brights on his right side.

"Nothing to interrupt," he assures her, unnecessarily. Annabeth knows him better than anyone, even still, would probably know he's dating someone before he himself knew. "Yeah, just… be cautious. When you enter."

"What are you even doing? Do I need to bring a hazmat suit or what?"

Percy grins. "So it seems laundry isn't an easy task for me."

Annabeth gives a world-weary sigh, but when she speaks, it's nothing but fond. "Yeah, yeah. I'm more than aware of that. Step away slowly. Make us lunch."

He perks up. "Does this mean you're doing my laundry for me?"

"No," Annabeth says, meaning something within the region of 'yes, of course I am, and you better love me for it too.' He's definitely got the love part covered. She hangs up.

;;

"I got photographed on my way in," Annabeth says, after she greets him with a warm hug. "Just so you know."

Percy nods. "Should I call Clint and ask him to take care of it, or…?"

She looks contemplative, casting a glance over his shoulder into the mess of a living room. "It looks like a clothes factory blew up in there."

Percy frowns, tilting her head back to him with a hand on her chin. "Don't be mean."

She rolls her eyes. "You'll be fine, you big baby." There's a spark in her eye, something that Percy's missed dearly. Mischievous Annabeth always was one of his favorite Annabeth's. Though, every Annabeth is kind of his favorite Annabeth. It's clear that Percy has a problem.

Annabeth swoops in for another quick hug before wandering into the kitchen, humming a tune that Percy can't place. It's when they're sat down to eat, toes just barely touching each other's, that Annabeth says, "Don't call him."

Percy takes a sip of his water. He doesn't call.

;;

Percy and Annabeth are seen in public again for the first time in 9 months on a Monday, of all days. Percy decides Mondays are something he can be happy about now.

It's nothing huge—honestly, whenever they decided to go birthday shopping for Clint they hadn't considered the fact that they would be balancing their time between store-hopping and trying their hardest to avoid paparazzi. It had just been another chance to edge in an hour or two together; to grab lunch and laugh a little and make the day a little less drab. The paparazzi are particularly interested, though, most of them not giving up pursuit for hours on end.

Annabeth and Percy had gotten good at making the game fun, though, pretending that they're spies and making up random codewords that are really just nonsense. They find the perfect present from Clint after about two hours of shopping, grab lunch at a more private restaurant, where there won't be cameras going off in their face while they take bites of sandwiches, and part ways after.

It's simple, too, nothing like the forced publicity they'd been through in the past. Come to think of it, all of their more recent hang-outs had been at their own accord only, no longer asking Clint for permission to breathe near each other. It's nice to exercise that kind of liberty.

Percy gets asked left and right about Annabeth. Every interview he attends has some form of 'let's hear about your relationship with Annabeth Chase!' And every interviewer gets the same answer—the same honest 'just friends' that makes him feel happier every time he says it. Annabeth does the same, but the interviewers see something, according to Clint. They start dropping mentions of 'eyes that seem to be holding a secret' or saying insinuatory remarks like 'these two definitely know something we don't.'

Annabeth comes over when her day hasn't been too rough, and Percy finds himself lounging at her house when he has a free hour or two. Even if Annabeth's not always home at the time, it's nice to immerse himself in this new environment she's created for herself. There's a wall of her music room that's covered in paint—it's an eyesore, if he's honest—but he also knows Annabeth's the one who did it, and that's what turns it from kind of ugly to something amazing. There's a map in her bedroom where she's started marking the cities she's played at with pushpins, and Percy likes to stare and stare and count all the places she's been that he hasn't.

And they're working, for now, finding their way back to normalcy after a sudden drop in their connection. It's back now, back at full-force and sometimes kicking Percy's ass with how much he loves her, but… He survives. Or, at least, Annabeth gives him enough smiles to make it through the day.

When he gives Annabeth the guitar, she makes a high-pitched sound, probably the highest he's ever heard from her. It makes him smile until his face starts aching, and Annabeth plays an impromptu song about her best friend Percy Jackson, sitting criss-cross right there on top of his kitchen table. He even writes down some of the lyrics, just so he can lock the moment away.

"I think we're soulmates," he'll tell her, when she brings home food for two without having called to ask if he's there. "We have to be," he'll say, when she brings him a glass of orange juice, somehow knowing it's exactly the drink he wanted. "I don't know how you can even doubt it anymore," he'll tease, when they reach for something at the same time or utter identical sentences.

Annabeth rolls her eyes each time and smiles something that should be framed in all the best museums. Sometimes she'll reply with a "yeah, duh." And he'll think I love you, and she'll shove his shoulder, and he'll stop himself from kissing her. Percy survives.

;;

There are millions of dates that fade into the back of Percy's mind, mostly because days run together when you're famous. Timezone hopping never helps and it's far too easy to lose track what day it is. He'll glance at the date, seeing a May 25. The next time he looks at the date, it's August. He's learned to live this way, cataloguing things by moments rather than points in time.

August 1, though, is a date that is impossible for him to forget.

Annabeth calls him and it's late—so late that he's already tucked himself into bed, half-heartedly scrolling through his social media. She sounds downtrodden and tired, admitting that she didn't really mean to call him.

"Force of habit," she claims, sounding exhausted. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Percy hums his disagreement. "No, you're fine. Everything okay?"

Annabeth groans. "It's been the longest day of my life. We started filming my documentary, which is just… weird. Nobody is even going to watch it."

Percy scoffs. "Please. I'll watch it enough times to make up for the portion of the human race who's crazy enough not to."

When Annabeth replies, there's a smile in her voice. "I'm sure you will. I just don't think I'm interesting enough for an hour and a half film, you know?" She pauses. "I mean, like, what am I even supposed to talk about? Hi, I'm Annabeth Chase and I sing a few catchy tunes. That's it."

He scowls, grunting grumpily and making Annabeth laugh. "You are interesting. I've been interested in you ever since I met you. That's not going away."

"I love having you in my life," Annabeth tells him. "You're just a walking ego-boost."

Smiling, he pushes his face against his pillow. "Wanna come over?"

"I'm tired," she says, apologetically. "Maybe another night?"

"All the more reason to come over!" Percy tells her. "I'll have dinner ready, so you don't have to worry about it. And I'll bet you haven't eaten since 5 or 6. It's midnight now. You're hungry. You want to come over."

"Is this subliminal messaging minus the subliminal part?" Annabeth sounds more amused than peeved, so Percy tells her that's exactly what this is. She hums thoughtfully, but eventually says, "I'm sold. I'm expecting a decent meal."

"I'll make your favorite," he promises, already heading for the kitchen. He's thankful that Annabeth's favorite food is chicken alfredo, which he can make in under thirty minutes, even if he were blindfolded. While he waits for the pasta to heat to a boil, tosses his softest blanket in the drier for a quick warming and places one of her favorite movies in the DVD player. Regardless of his encouragement for her to come over, he knows she's physically and mentally exerted almost all of the energy she has to give. He tries to create the most relaxing of environments.

The meal is thankfully completed in his thirty minute time window, so he uses the remaining time to boil some water for tea, just in case she wants something calming.

He's contemplating whether or not hiring a last-minute masseuse is too much when there's a knock on his door. Slipping on his socks for a very, very scary moment, he manages to open the door without an accident. "Yay!" Percy cheers, pulling her inside by the hands. He holds out a formal arm, and Annabeth rolls her eyes before obliging his theatrics, curling her hand around his elbow. "My name is Percy, and I'll be your waiter tonight," he says in a posh accent.

Annabeth laughs when he not-so-formally sits her on the couch and leaves, returning with a warmed blanket. She watches him press play, smiling when the opening credits to Ocean's Eleven appears on the screen. "Percy, you don't—"

"Hey, shut up," he says, without much bite. She grins at him, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "You said you had a long day. It is my duty to… chill you out. Yeah, that."

Annabeth stares at him before nodding. "Carry on. Chill me out."

He smiles at her assent, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve her meal. "And here is one plate of chicken alfredo," Percy announces, setting it in her lap. "Drink?"

"Water, please." She shakes her head at him, but there's a smile that won't leave her face. Percy knows he's done the right thing. He fetches her a glass of water, sitting beside her on the couch. She eats quickly, and Percy finds himself worrying. When his career picked up, he found himself forgetting to take care of the most important things—eating a meal, getting a decent night's sleep, drinking enough water. By the tired slump to Annabeth's shoulders, Percy's assuming she's experiencing similar hardships.

He watches the movie and tries not to stare at her too much. When Annabeth finishes eating, she slides her plate onto his coffee table and curls the slightest bit closer to him, warm blanket heating his arm. Disregarding the movie, he turns to look at her, finding her eyes on him in return. "Hey," she says.

He lifts his shoulder in a small, restless action. "Hello. Fancy seeing you here," Percy tells her, with a quiet laugh.

She groans at him, knocking her head against his shoulder. "You are so dumb."

Percy thinks it's a direct translation to you are the very best thing in my life. "Yeah," he answers. "A little."

Annabeth keeps her head on his shoulder, and he wonders if that was her intention all along. "A lot. A lottle."

He snorts, laughing into her hair. "Oh god, what are you even saying?"

"I'm tired," she whines, leaning closer to him. He shifts until his arm can settle over her shoulders. "Lottle should be a term. Like, a little, but also kind of a lot."

"I'll call the dictionary people and tell them to add it immediately," Percy says, without missing a beat. "Do you think they credit the people who make up new words? Imagine that, Annabeth Chase contributing to the latest dictionary."

Annabeth is quiet for a second, but eventually looks at him, chin resting on his shoulder. She makes a contemplative face that makes Percy grin a little. Or a lottle, his mind says, and the thought has him laughing when Annabeth leans forward and kisses him.

His mind goes quiet for a second, all of the constant humming dying down entirely. He kisses her back, reaching up to hold her cheek. There's no burning to his skin, no wild thrumming in his veins, and nothing particularly urgent about the way her lips press against his. It's gentle, noses bumping softly when they pull back and fingertips tapping at his collarbone. Percy blinks at her, running a thumb across the apple of her cheek. He presses another, shorter kiss to her lips, and she lets her palm rest flat across his collarbone.

"Hi," is what Percy opens with.

Annabeth grins, moving her hand until her thumb touches the corner of his mouth. "Hey."

He nods, like she's contributed a fair point to the conversation. "That wasn't an accident, right?"

A laugh bubbles out of her. She leans forward, lips brushing the same spot her thumb had rested a moment ago. "No, that was on purpose."

Percy smiles, but not too widely, just in case she decides to kiss him again. "That's good." Annabeth's forehead rests on his, hand idly tracing the side of his face. A full-on grin slips onto his face at its own accord. "Hey, Annabeth?"

"Yes?" she asks, seemingly tapping every freckle on his face.

"I love you a lottle," he says on a laugh. Annabeth groans and shoves his face away, but pulls him back in by the collar for a kiss to the cheek, eventually pushing him away with finality. He takes it in stride.

;;

A week later, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase exit a smoothie shop with their hands intertwined. Approximately no one is surprised.

;;;