Disclaimer: I own none of the characters used in this story. They belong to their creators and save for the plot and scene, there is no plagiarism.
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It's a terrible, rainy Thursday in NY city but Annabeth's not perturbed by it. She clocked in for her job before the showers began and her neat little top and sweatpants are dry and crease free.
She checks her reflection in the small mirror of the restrooms, fluffing up her hair and adding a little lip gloss to make her look a bit brighter. She pinched her cheeks, hoping for them to look nice and not too sultry, and put on her apron uniform for the Café she works in.
There he was. The college graduate. At least, she thinks he is one. He seems a bit older than her, maybe twenties, but that just makes him more desirable.
This one guy is always present in a corner booth at her coffee shop, busy with his books. The problem is that he is always there before she arrives for her shift. So she can never have him approach her for his order.
He is surrounded by the same three books he always uses along with a new reference book on Advanced Economics – International Affairs.
Annabeth fills up her duty in a daze. The man is definitely her type. He has a mess of wayward hair that looks fresh and soft that she just wants to run her fingers through it, maybe grip it tightly –
"Excuse me?" Her customer snaps startling her out of her reverie. She blinks and realizes that she is holding the boy's order and tries not to flush at her daydreaming. The tattooed teen, with long bangs hanging over his eyes looks irritated as he snatches his latte and maneuvers his spinning seat away from her, muttering darkly.
Annabeth sighs and pays more attention to any newcomers into the little shop. When the business slows down considerably, she props up her business magazine and pretends to read it while taking covert peaks at her object of desire seated by the window booth, who was now staring wistfully at the rain, his concentration ebbing away from his studies. She wonders what he thinks of; wishes that she had the bravery to walk over to him to say something. Anything.
Sir, I noticed your cappuccino is done with. Would you prefer a refill?
A bit soggy, the weather, isn't it? Would you like something hot, preferably me?
Annabeth bit down on the groan that threatened to escape. Too forward. Not that she'd be able to say anything if they came face to face.
The hours passed, the black haired man didn't move. Annabeth served the mere number of customers that came in the café to escape the relentless the rain.
And then, at precisely six p.m., the man got up, gathered his books into his sling bag, shifted his glasses and left.
She watched his form disappear through the heavy rain; he had not even bothered to use an umbrella. She wasn't even sure he had brought one.
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The next day, Annabeth notices, in shock, that her mystery man was not in his regular booth. She falters in most of her orders, her hands are red with spills of coffee, her cheeks red, her mind overflowing with what could have happened to her mystery man.
Accident? Family problems? Personal issues? College situation? Girlfriend troubles?
She refuses to think about the last hitch. But since her fast paced mind has already thought of the problem, she can't help but think it over. The man was definitely very handsome, easy on the eyes. Anyone would be lucky to call him, theirs.
Her mind skips to degrading scenarios of him being passionate with another woman, someone his age and his level. Leagues above Annabeth, a high school junior.
.
On Saturday, he is seated in his booth, before she arrives. This return of the schedule, stabilizes her frenzied mind and she takes in a deep breath before greeting her first client with a larger grin than the previous day.
Saturday is a bright day. It reflects her mood. The crowd is heavier than other days but she keeps up her cheerful demeanor even when she has to clean up a spilt malt and receives a slightly lower tip than usual Saturdays.
She is even nice to the sulky tattooed teen who, without fail, is always present during her shift. He seems even more surly at her unperturbed attitude and mumbles probably epithets.
Annabeth ignores him and settles to her daily dosage of 'watching her mystery man.'
The man is running his hand though his hair and she sighs. The boy next to her snorts. Now, she glares at him.
"Yes sir? Is your fratte, not acceptable?" She asks as politely as she could. But the boy catches her sarcasm, his face slowly turning towards her.
She catches the symbol of a tiny haddock on the curve of his neck with a phrase inked underneath. The words weren't in English, but the boy's glinting eyes catches her gaze and her smirks.
"Do you get paid to check out customers? Because it seems to be your main duty here."
He has a snarky tone and Annabeth grits her teeth. She decided to be the mature one and does not take his bait. She looks away and opens her magazine, her eyes sorting for the black haired mystery man, but her ears catching the silent sneers of the black haired tattooed teen.
.
At six, the man does not leave. He stays in his booth, engrossed in his syllabus and it bothers Annabeth. The schedule is being changed. Before, he hadn't even attended the entire day and now, he's staying way past the curfew she has set for him in her mind.
She remains quietly baffled by the turn of events.
At seven, the sky turns a few shades darker. She drops off her apron, her eyes still on the man. The teen let out a breath and follows her out the door, almost knocking into her.
Annabeth frowns as the boy, (closer to her age – she realizes,) walks away through the busy streets. Is it so obvious that she stares at the man. What if others have noticed that? What if the guy had seen her watching him every time he came in.
She slowly wraps her scarf around her neck, turning around to watch the man in the booth through the window.
As she watches, he gets up and packs in his things, ready to leave.
You're an hour late, Mister.
She leans right outside the door, wondering when and how she actually fell head over heels for someone who she'd never even talked to. Why did she even like him?
Well, there's his gorgeous face, his wind-swept hair, his broad shoulder, his cute little glasses…
The door opens and she lets out a gasp as she falls into the café, right into his arms.
The smell of a cologne hits her nose and she unconsciously takes in a deep breath. It's almost intoxicating. She tilts her head and comes face to face with lightened viridian eyes, twinkling at her through his glasses. It takes her breath away.
She's in his arms. He's holding her. He's looking at her. His face looks even cuter upside down.
Annabeth swears she would have blacked out if he hadn't righted her up.
"Miss? Are you okay? I didn't notice you…"
He trails off when she shakes her head vigorously. His voice! There was a rich foreign quality to it. She lost her voice.
He nods, relieved that she's fine. If she hadn't lost her voice she would've squealed. He was worried about her! EEP!
His face has a more regal quality than modern good-looks. Maybe he's descended from some rich European family?
He gives her an apologetic smile. She smiles back, mostly out of giddiness.
Their encounter is done, but Annabeth is left, wanting more.
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She has Sundays off which she feels with last minute, reviewing of all her assignments for school. A sure-fire way of getting her mind off of any cute boys or mystery men. Annabeth had been tempted several times to drop by the café on Sundays to check whether the man is there, but she pushes down the urge. She's half way addicted to him. Extra sightings of green-eyed models would put her entire life in jeopardy.
But it is a sunny Monday that she gets the shock of her life.
There's a pretty red-head sitting next to him in his window boot. Not across him, but next to him.
Her hand is on his thigh and his arm is wrapped around her shoulders. They were kissing softly and the moment was so simple and intimate that Annabeth tore her eyes away, her heart sinking so low it drops to her gut. She glares at the pen she holds and grips it so tightly that it breaks.
The tattooed teen muffles his laughter. She snaps her neck towards him, ready to aim a few choice words to shut him up when he holds out both his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Look, I know it sucks when the person you keep looking at doesn't even notice you. It's happened to thousands, it will happen to thousands and you need to move on. Besides, he's way too old for you."
For someone who looks like a drug-addict punk, he has a wide view of heartbreak. Annabeth stares at the boy who looks like it's no big deal and then she watches the couple in the booth by the window.
They're whispering in soft voices and the woman laughs. The mystery man must be good at subtle jokes. He hugs her tighter to him and they look so perfect, jet black and fire red hair, leaning together to look into each other's eyes.
Annabeth stares down sadly at her broken pen and ripped paper, feeling a distant emotion of betrayal when the man, in reality, has done nothing but charm her without a single word. It's like all the emotions that has had her in a turmoil for months has been for naught. The mystery man has a mystery woman of his own and by the way he's looking at her, it's like they're in love.
He would never look at Annabeth like that. He had never looked at anyone else like that except for the beauty in his arms.
Annabeth glares at the counter trying to focus on her breathing. She starts to blink rapidly when she feels a wetness gathering in them.
Stupid! Stupid, little …
"Whoa, are you seriously crying?" The tattooed teen questions, rather loudly. Everyone in the small café turns to their direction. Annabeth's cheeks feel supernova hot when she saw everyone's gaze trained on her.
"Thanks." She mutters to the boy before turning around and leaving.
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Annabeth had half a mind to resign. Sitting next to the trashcans by the back door, outside the building, she rubs her eyes furiously, hating herself for losing her dignity. She hates that stupid punk who has no tact, hates the mystery man and his girlfriend, hates that she didn't have anyone looking at her like she was special.
She feels like an idiot. Of course, a good looking man like the college guy would have a significant other. Someone in his level. Nothing but the best, just like him. The woman who sat next to him had everything any man would have wanted. A beautiful face, a slim, strong figure, a perfect laugh, the adornment in her eyes for him.
Annabeth buries her face in her palms, wishing she had never seen the mystery man.
The door opens and someone takes their place next to her.
"Hey, Chase. Look, I'm not really sure what happened there. But you look like crap."
Annabeth swallows. "Thanks Thalia."
"No, seriously. What I mean is that, I'll cover your shift. Why don't you go on home?"
Good idea, I'll just go home and try to smother myself into my Winnie-the-Pooh pillow.
"Look, it's nothing. Besides, it's what a couple of minutes left for my clocking out time, right?" Annabeth says, getting up and dusting herself off.
Thalia, sighing, flicks her black spikes from her face, her heavily lined eyes looking a little sympathetic. Thalia hadn't been very good at giving comforting talks, but she was a very good friend who specialized at punching douches like that punk kid and making people laugh and snort like no tomorrow.
"Actually, there's about two hours left on your clock."
Annabeth lets groans.
"Wait! That's why I'm offering to cover for you. You can go home. Sort out through whatever's happening, 'kay?"
Thalia really looks willing to help her. Annabeth smoothens down her hair and apron and said, "No, it's alright. I – well, can you check and tell me if the couple in the first window booth is still there or not?"
When Thalia goes in to verify, Annabeth takes in slow breaths. She looks up the alley wall, behind the café, praying that the mystery couple were gone and so was the tattooed teen.
It had been a simple little crush. Nothing more. It may take a while, but she'd get over it, right?
Luckily, the couple had left a few seconds after Annabeth herself had abandoned her post. She takes a look at her reflection in the oven in the kitchen and deeming herself not too broken hearted to look at, she walks out with her head held high.
The punk is still there. She tries not to glare at him. The boy's always there, regardless of the day or weather. He'd always order enough coffee to keep him occupied in the shop but he really doesn't do anything else. Annabeth was never sure why he even came. Sure, the coffee wasn't too bad, but the café was more like a family/couple establishment and this teen was a loner. Always standing out, with his could-care-less attitude, outrageous number of tattoos over his skin and creepy looks through his hair.
Annabeth takes her place by the cash register, and to busy herself, checks the previous bills and orders, while glancing at the empty booth. She has a feeling that the mystery couple would never come here again. It makes her annoyed.
"Annabeth?"
She turns towards the rebellious looking delinquent, trying not to hate him too much. It was probably already too late for that.
"Yes?"
He stares. "Oh geez, tone down the politeness, I ain't gonna bite."
She wants to scratch her eyes out at his language. Or maybe she could scratch his eyes out.
"Um, just wanted to say sorry, ya know? Didn't mean to diss ya."
Annabeth casually takes a plastic fork out of its holder.
"Anyway, uh, sorry."
She stops and squeezed the fork. He looks sincere enough and since he did apologize (there was probably some rule against being nice if one looked like they were in a gang) she calms down, unintentionally.
In truth, she wants to be angry and needs to throw something. But the boy's deep words (note the sarcasm, please) has her calming down and she gives him a shrug.
She fiddles with her broken pen, trying to make the ink run when the guy across the counter says. "You know? Sometimes, you've just gotta let old things go and adjust to new ones. You might even like new changes."
With these words of wisdom, he slides a cheap looking, workable ball point pen in her direction along with a napkin. He smiles and it makes him look better than the skater rebel look he usually has. She finds breathing suddenly hard because when he turns, his collarbone bears the words – Breathe Me In. It sounds as though he's found something to cherish. The tattooed teen winks with a life-inducing grin and leaves the café.
Annabeth reaches for the new pen and napkin, reading the words he has written.
Something new. *$ coffee & Matt's Bowling Alley on 23rd street, 2morrow?
Percy.