It comes over him in a flash.
Annabeth is curled up beside him in bed, frowning over a crossword puzzle. It is a Sunday night, the end of a perfectly ordinary weekend, peacefully devoid of squabbling demigods or Gods in need of favors.
Annabeth has her eyebrows furrowed. Her hair is thrown carelessly into a bun, gleaming a soft golden against the muted light of the bedside lamp. She huffs, "Percy, this crossword puzzle has a typo! That's why it was so unsolvable-"
He grins fondly, rolling over and hooking an arm around her waist. "Always the Wise Girl," he murmurs into her hair, pressing a kiss onto her neck. She exhales; her eyes glimmer playfully as she turns to face him. "Maybe if your brain wasn't made out of seaweed you would have spotted it too-"
She breaks off, laughing as he pokes her side. "You know crossword puzzles aren't my thing," he says, but he is distracted by how beautiful she looks at the moment, her grey eyes lit with joy, her smile relaxed and carefree. At that moment, he knows: there is no one else in the world for him; it is Annabeth, and it has always been Annabeth, from the moment he laid eyes on her as a gawky, awkward boy. He isn't used to thinking too far in the future – demigods die too young for that – but someday, in the distant future, when things have calmed down…
He shakes his head, the quick motion disrupting his train of thought. Someday, he tells himself, pressing a kiss onto her forehead.
Someday.
