Chapter Two

Annabeth Chase was a little more than frustrated.

She wanted to have a good product for her Pro Tools final - after all, if the prof didn't have to deal with a shitty recording, he'd mark in a better mood - but recording in a studio for a school project was just too expensive. She shared a dorm room with two roommates who didn't like to shut up, which meant the only place left was the practice rooms.

Unfortunately, practice rooms during finals were always crowded and they weren't quite soundproofed. She decided to take a nap and wait until three in the morning, when everyone had gone to bed. She hoped finals had tired the insomniacs out enough so she could take advantage of the quiet practice rooms.

It worked... except for one guy. Practicing electric guitar.

Annabeth chose the practice room farthest away from him, hoping that would be enough to block out the sound. She set up her microphone on a stand and plugged it into her interface - a small box that converted the microphone signal so she could record using her computer. She connected the interface to her laptop and started up Pro Tools, the music editing software, but for some reason, it wasn't recognizing her microphone.

Shit.

She hated Pro Tools for this reason. There was always so many input and outputs and hard drive and all this other crap she had to change every time she wanted to record, and it always took so long to fiddle around until all the settings were right. Sighing to herself, she clicked around, trying to get the connection.

Twenty minutes later, she still hadn't figured it out.

"Fucking shitty piece of shit why can't you work?" she ground out, pushing her blonde hair out of her face. She was beginning to panic; this project was due tomorrow and she still needed to record the vocals and mix it.

She was still too new to the world of music engineering, and it seemed as though everyone had started before her. They'd been mixing music for years, and Annabeth couldn't even get the microphone working.

"Okay," she said tiredly to herself, crossing her legs underneath her. "The microphone is in input one on the interface. The interface is connected to the computer. My settings are set to my interface. So why can't I..." She trailed off.

The interface wasn't even on.

Annabeth wanted to smack herself in the face.

She quickly flipped the switch and the thing lit up, and a pop-up on her laptop screen told her it was finally working. She breathed a sigh of relief and tested the microphone, singing into it and listening through her headphones.

And that's when she heard it.

Faintly, the sound of the guy's guitar amp had bled through the microphone.

Annabeth grinded her teeth together. Couldn't he turn it down? Or use his headphones? God, why was he even awake at three – now three-thirty – in the morning, practicing?

She would just ask him to use headphones. It wouldn't be a huge problem. She'd just explain that she was recording. So many people recorded every day, probably even him. He wouldn't mind.

Annabeth opened the door and made her way over to the guy's practice room, peeking into the window. She could only really see half of his face; he was leaning over his guitar in a way she knew from experience was going to give him back problems, and his eyes were closed as he played. He looked very familiar. He had dark hair and a lanky form, and he was cute. Really cute.

And really good at guitar.

She watched him play, not wanting to interrupt. If he practiced like this at three-thirty in the morning, she couldn't imagine how great he would've been when he was fully awake. He had piercings at the end of his right eyebrow and his ears. She wondered if he had any tattoos.

She waited for him, tapping her foot to the beat, becoming more and more impatient as time went on. Didn't he ever take a break? She didn't want to interrupt him, because she would hate if someone did that to her… but she really did need to record.

A minute later, she found herself pushing the door open, an apologetic look on her face, saying, "Excuse me, do you mind using your headphones?"

Immediately, she knew this was a mistake.

As if in slow motion, he stopped playing, scrunching his eyes shut as though he were in pain. Shit, she'd really pissed him off now. He took a deep breath and faced her, and Annabeth realized who he was.

Percy Jackson.

He was slightly famous at their college. Though she'd never really heard him play before then, she'd heard countless people talking about how great he played guitar – electric and acoustic – piano and drums.

"What?" he snapped at her.

His eyes were red and he looked very tired, but Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him. Who did he think he was?

She pointed to his headphones sitting on top of his amp. "Can you use them?"

He rubbed his eyes wearily. Annabeth didn't think she was inconveniencing him this much – she hardly knew the guy! It was a simple request. He all but whined when he asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm trying to record," she explained, gesturing to her practice room. "Your amp is bleeding into my microphone –"

"Fine," he cut across with finality. Annabeth felt as though she'd been slapped in the face. She quickly nodded and shut the door, hoping her face wasn't as red as she felt. Talented or not, Annabeth honestly didn't want to speak Percy Jackson for another second.

But then he started playing, and she stopped in her tracks.

That. Little. Shit.

"Hey!" she shouted, turning around the throwing the door open again. He was smirking now, and she saw that he'd turned the volume up. She shook with frustration. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" he shot back angrily. "I'm just trying to practice and you barge in here, demanding that I use headphones –"

"I didn't demand, I asked!" she insisted. "And you agreed! Besides, I waited for five minutes and you didn't stop playing –"

"So why come in?" he asked accusingly. "I was concentrating!"

"I need to record!"

"And I need to practice!"

"My project is due tomorrow – today!"

"My proficiency is today!"

"Oh, come on," Annabeth said, exasperated. "Everyone talks about you like you're some genius. Like you need to practice."

This actually seemed to render him silent – for a few moments.

"Me?" he spluttered, going red in the face. He slung his guitar off and set it down to stand up and face her. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"Everyone! Does it matter? I just –" Annabeth cut off to take a deep breath. She didn't come here to feed his ego. "I'd just really appreciate it if you used headphones, because I need to quickly finish recording the vocals and I've been trying to get the fucking interface connected for the past half hour –"

"Are you wearing a Nightmare Apocalypse t-shirt?"

"I – what?"

"Your shirt," he said, pointing to the logo on Annabeth's black t-shirt. He'd apparently been distracted by the giant moon with a crack down the front – that, or her boobs, but she doubted it. "Is it from Nightmare Apocalypse?"

It was Annabeth's turn to be rendered speechless.

"No one ever knows them," she stammered out, "and anyway, we –"

"You're right," he said, seemingly forgetting he was angry thirty seconds before, "they're one of the most underappreciated bands ever! Did you see them live?"

"I – umm – yeah." She cleared her throat and fingered the hem of her shirt. "A few years ago, they came to my hometown."

"You're so lucky."

"They were amazing," she said, trying to keep the huge smile back. "Absolutely amazing."

"Did you hear they're breaking up?" Percy asked her, his lips turning downwards. "They're doing one last show in LA, and boom… they're done."

"Yeah," she said, suddenly feeling sad. "Yeah, I know. They're one of my favourite bands, too."

"I wish I saw them live," he said wistfully, "at least once."

"Why don't you go to the concert in LA?"

"Sold out," he said mournfully. "Didn't you see? They sold out in an hour."

"Oh," she said. Her face was heating up now, and she remembered tickets sitting in her wallet in her room. "I actually was one of those people."

"You got tickets," he said numbly. "To Nightmare Apocalypse's last show."

Annabeth tried not to grin, because that would definitely rub it in his face. "Yeah."

"Those tickets were ninety-fucking-dollars."

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"It was worth it," she defended, fully smiling now. She couldn't help it. She got tickets to her favourite band – the band that got her into music. "Worth every cent."

"I would've blown all my money on it, too," he said, nodding. He was looking at her in a mixture of jealousy and begrudging respect. "I'd do anything to go."

"Well…" Annabeth had no idea why she was saying this, but the words seemed to tumble out of their own accord. "I have an extra ticket if you want it, but I need a way to get there if you have a car –"

"I have a car," he said excitedly. "Are you serious? I can buy it off you?"

"As long as you get me to LA –"

"Hell yes!" Percy was grinning and practically fist-pumping as he started packing up his guitar. "Yes, it's in about a week, right? Let's leave right after finals!"

Annabeth mentally smacked herself, again. Was she seriously going to do this?

"Do you have your phone with you?" he asked, and she silently handed it to him. She was already regretting it, just watching him type his number into her phone. They were just arguing five minutes ago, and now they were planning a road trip to Nightmare Apocalypse?

What. The. Hell.

"What's your name?" he asked, smiling apologetically, holding up her phone. "I'm just texting myself your number."

"Annabeth Chase," she answered, typing it in herself and pressing 'send'. She looked back up at him, a little worried. "We'll need a plan, and I can drive some of the way, and –"

"Don't worry so much," he said dismissively, shoving a bunch of papers into his guitar case. "We'll just get a map or GPS or whatever and head there. It'll be great, you'll see." With that, he hitched up his guitar and amp and headed out. "Nice meeting you, Annabeth Chase."

"Nice meeting you too," she said, her stomach already twisting.

"Good luck with your recording!" he called over his shoulder. She definitely heard a slight teasing in his voice.

Fuck you too, Jackson, she seethed, storming back to her practice room. Fuck you too.

A/N: So much for it being a drabble? :P I tried. I hope the music stuff made sense, I might've nerded out a little too much :P

Please review :)