I sit wide awake, on watch as Percy and the Bane of my Existance (a.k.a Rachel) sleep soundly. I have no freaking idea how they can fall asleep so fast in this hell of a place. The ceilings, covered in graffiti; the walls, close together so you feel claustrophobic at the mere thought of staying in here for days on end; the noises, insects scuttling across the concrete floor, random little pounds of the huge Labyrinth settling, and maybe even whispers across the still air, creepily feeling as if you're being snuck up on or being talked about.

My fingertips absentmindedly trace through the thick dust on the hard ground, writing out Greek phrases, but at the same time, I have my left hand gripped tightly to my Celestial bronze knife, kept at my side constantly. I tuck strands of my blond hair behind my ear, remembering as I did so that it would have been nice to stick one of those collapsible hairbrushes in my pocket. If Aphrodite saw me now, she might have a heart attack, though- my locks were matted with dirt, sweat, and blood, as was my orange camp t-shirt, which wasn't neon anymore, more like a sepia tone. I knew there must be dust all over my tanned skin, and acknowledge the fact that the dark circles under my stormy gray eyes must be horrifying. That's probably why Percy's been looking at me funny lately.

Oh, Percy. That dim-witted idiot of a second cousin… or something. Not that it mattered, really. Relations don't matter to demigods unless you are direct- like a half-sibling. I mean, of course I've never thought deeply on the subject… NEVER, ever have. Shut up.

But kissing him on Mount St. Helens, that was the stupidest (is that a word?) thing I could have ever done. Because now, he acts like I never did that, keeps on being oblivious Percy, never seeing anything, even if it goes on right under his nose. I swear, Percy wouldn't know amazing, beautiful unrequited love if it slapped him across his face. Like us. And I know I have hit him more times than completely necessary.

I "overheard" (Pshh, I would never eavesdrop…) him talking to the "Bane" the other night, saying that he had no idea why I was trying to ignore him, when she asked him if he was sure he didn't know what was up. At least I know she has a bit more of common sense than Mr. Seaweed Brain, as she muttered, "Boys."

Looking over at him, I realize he's awake now, his brilliant blue-green eyes seaching the passageway, finally coming to rest on me. I'm glad it's dark, I'm sure I'm blushing. His hair is a mess, sticking up everywhere, his shirt so wrinkled he could have been an orange elephant, and a smudge of brown on the tip of his nose. How did I, Annabeth Chase, daughter of the brilliant goddess Athena, manage to fall in love with Percy Jackson?

Maybe it's his eyes, the way the irises sparkle at me through his lashes when they meet mine.

Maybe it's his smile, revealing tiny little dimples on each cheek, making him look about two years younger.

Maybe it's his laugh, his childish happiness booming out to fill the room and everyone in it with joy, even if it's just the worst joke ever, or a clever comment made by Grover.

Or maybe it's all of him, the warmth that is Percy, the quiet strength, the heroism, the beautiful truth of his voice, and the love that he shares with everyone.

And suddenly, I see.