Author's Note: Hey, guys! So, this is my first story since my restart, and I hope you like it. It's going to be a series of one-shots, focusing on Percy and Annabeth—from their friendship to their relationship, and everything in between. If there's a particular song that inspired me to write a chapter, I'll tell you what it is, and I recommend listening to them
Inspiration for chapters tends to strike me at random times, so expect a big variety of types of oneshots.
The time period for this particular chapter is pre-The Last Olympian, but Annabeth is living in New York. Just to clear that up. :)
Lastly, I'd like to recognize my amazing beta, Kioko. Thank you so much!
So, I now present: Once Upon a Summer's Dream
Suggested Song: Inevitable by Anberlin
A Picture of our Past
She sits upon the grass, not crying, not smiling, no emotion shown on her face. In her hands is a picture of a raven-haired boy, smiling. His grin tended to tilt higher on the left side, and his eyes sparkled. The girl who sits upon the grass is also in the picture—her arm around the boy, as his was around her. In the photograph, she was smiling, allowing her near-perfect teeth to show. Now, her smile plays upon her lips again. She remembers clearly the day the picture had been taken.
"No, Seaweed Brain, it'll work better if we have Beckendorf on defense," she had said.
"But if we put him on offense, maybe he'll scare the defenders."
"I'm pretty sure your stupidity is enough to scare them away."
"Ha-ha. Very funny."
She had smiled. "I know."
"Fine, Wise Girl. I'll let you have your way this time. But when Cabin Six loses its flag to the Ares kids, don't blame me."
"I won't. We won't lose the flag."
She remembers the flicker of a smile that played upon his face. She recalls wondering why he was grinning in the middle of an argument, but also she calls to mind the warm feeling it had given her.
"Hey, I have a question," he had said, as if this was a new concept.
"Yeah?"
"What happens if I get the flag?"
"Then I guess Athena will be against Poseidon for the next Capture the Flag."
He had considered this, a pensive look on his face. It was a rarity to see him this engulfed in deep thought.
"Then I guess I don't want to get the flag this time."
It had taken her a moment to realize that he was saying he didn't want to be against her.
She smiles at the memory.
"Hey, Wise Girl?"
"Yes?"
"I think they're trying to get a picture…" he had said, pointing to a familiar dark-haired Aphrodite girl.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Oh, c'mon, Wise Girl. Just smile and act like you're not envisioning the twenty ways to separate my head from my body."
"I'm up to twenty-two now, thank you."
The camera had clicked, and the moment was captured. In truth, at the time, all the girl had been thinking of was his arm around her shoulder and how very…natural it had felt. She thinks back to all the times they'd spent together, including the Capture the Flag game they really had won with her strategy. She thinks back to the end-of-summer campfire, where he had sat right next to her. For most, it would not be a romantic story. No hand-holding, hugging, or kissing—just them, enjoying their last night together for the following nine months.
She wonders if he holds these memories as dearly as she does. Does he remember all those days spent together, with conversations she always took to heart? Does he recall all those laughs they'd shared? Or is it just her who remembers the feeling of wanting to strangle each other, quickly replaced by one of longing to scoot just a little closer?
A petal falls from the tree under which she sits. It positions itself softly atop her head. She shakes her golden curls and watches the small petal fall the last little distance to the warm, green grass. It settles itself upon the dewed blades. Reaching out her fingertips, the girl brushes the small petal with a loving touch not common to her.
She thinks of the boy as a gift—a blessing in a world of hate. A flower in a world of weeds. Her heart misses him more dearly than she thought possible, and she wants for nothing more than for him to be there again, just so she can remind herself that somewhere, something made sense.
But did he truly make sense to her? No, not really. Yet, that was okay—it made life interesting.
The girl lies back upon the damp grass, allowing herself to grow wet. She is still not crying. She isn't sad—these memories are sweet ones to her. Yet, she is missing something. She cannot place her finger on top of what it is, so she gets up and walks into her white house. The picture she'd been holding is left out in the open. Left there to forget and to be forgotten.
Days pass, and the girl still feels indescribable. By the time the weekend comes around, rain has begun to fall again. She doesn't mind. Rain seems to fit her mood—not sad, happy, or angry, but nostalgic.
She allows her hair to become soaked, along with her clothes and shoes. Still, she does not cry. She is strong, and she is not sad. She is waiting for someone to be there for her. She is waiting to be there for someone. What she wants most, at the moment, is that mutual need.
The grass is wet, so she does not want to sit upon it like she did those few days ago. She leans against the tree's trunk instead, fatigued by her too-simple, too-complicated life. As a petal had fallen then, a flower falls now. The April floods of rain seem so harsh, but she knows that these sweet flowers need them. Perhaps the tree had bloomed too soon. But she knows that the tree is one who is strong and will persevere through the rains.
The past eight months have been hard. Since August, she has not seen him once and she misses his presence. They have been apart ever since camp let out, despite her living in New York for the first time since they met. She knows their friendship will survive the hard times, as the flowers survive the hard rains of April, but still she wishes it would hurry up and heal.
Pink and soft, the flower is now resting in her palm. She had reached out her hand to catch it—not wanting to see something so sweet fall to the harsh ground, just to be trampled and forgotten.
"I think you're missing something," a male voice makes the girl's head snap up.
His ashen hair is messy, and he looks run-down and tired. The year has not treated him well. He looks as if he's at death's door—until you see his smile and that twinkle in his eyes. They completely turn his appearance upside down. He suddenly looks again like that boyish son of Poseidon who would not stop occupying her mind for the last…well, she doesn't remember the last time he wasn't on her mind.
"…Percy?"
He chuckles.
"Yeah." He steps forward, handing her a piece of paper, folded into a tiny little square. "Here…I thought you might be missing it."
She unfolds the paper, smiling all the while. It is a picture of two thirteen-year-old kids, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. The colors are faded and there is obvious water damage, but the memory is still intact—both on the glossy paper and in their hearts.
"Is this…?"
"I found it the other day. It was sitting on my fire escape."
His apartment is a good ten miles from her house, but somehow, the photo she'd been holding last weekend is in her hands yet again—hardened by weather and softened by love.
He takes one step closer, taking the flower from her hand. She realizes that it is missing a single petal. Somehow, she knows it's the petal she'd seen last time she'd sat under the tree.
She watches him put the flower into her hair, off to the side.
"Percy…"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you here?"
He gets a pensive look on his face, and he seems as confused as she feels. "I don't really know."
She smiles. "Okay."
For some reason, she doesn't really care. All that matters is that's he's here, and so is she.
Percy puts his arm around her shoulder, duplicating the pose in the picture, except for this time, it's not a pose. She is shorter than he is now, so she has to settle for putting her arm around his waist—not that she minds.
Annabeth does not know how long they stand there, and it truly does not matter. All that matters is that they're together, and for once, they're not worried. Sure, she wants to ask why they hadn't talked in so long. Sure, he had the odd, sudden urge to be closer to her—maybe just to close that distance between their lips. They both resist.
She does because she knows in the end, it will not matter; all that is important is that he wants to be near her, too.
He does because he does not know yet why he feels this way, and he knows it's not time yet—he is content with their arms around each other, supporting one another.
The rain still pours, but she can see a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon—a little bit of hope that she knows will pull through. Because that's all you need, just the smallest bit of hope.
And a memory to hold dearly.