A/N: Hey guys! Back again on time! Hope you like it!

Annabeth's life is built up of songs. Songs from her childhood, her adolescence, into her adulthood. Songs from summers and winters and random holidays and forgotten anniversaries.

She can go back and listen and remember the time and place and feel what she had felt. It's great when she wants to remember Piper's wedding, or Thalia's 16th birthday, or that one coffeeshop from her hometown.

But it's dangerous when she thinks of those nights alone in her room, or when those ice blue eyes looked at her with indifference, or that place on the balcony where she went when she lost her dream job.

Annabeth's life is built up of songs and she knows better than anybody that everybody has a song they don't sing anymore, a chapter they don't think they can read aloud.

So when she walks into the café where there's a guy with a guitar off to the side, strumming and singing softly over the crowd, she freezes.

Most of the people aren't paying that close attention to the song, they're either talking or working or have headphones in. She doesn't know how they're missing this.

It physically hurts but she's still drawn to a table closer to him, where another guy is sullenly sitting off to the side, he's paying attention, he can hear it.

They don't acknowledge each other when she sits down and continue to look up at the guy with the guitar.

He's strumming gently, and singing in a low tone, but the hurt is apparent. Every word, every chord, spells out stories of life that she keeps hidden. The hurt and the pain and the songs never meant to be sung and the words never said out loud.

But he sings them. He bares it out for the world. And it hurts, but the good kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that brings pinpricks of tears to your eyes when you put alcohol over a wound before bandaging it up.

The singer's eyes meet hers and she finds herself tearing up at the emotion in them. It's cathartic.

He finishes the song and turns away to pack up the guitar. Jazz music starts to play over the speakers and only a few people notice he's done, giving a scattering sort of applause. He doesn't look up until he's packed up his guitar.

She's sitting there frozen and doesn't realize he's coming up to her until he's there.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, and she feels wetness on her cheeks. When did that happen?

She takes a deep breath, wipes her face and looks back at him. He's got a soft smile on his face and she wants to know the other songs behind those green eyes.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" she asks instead of replying to his question.

It's his turn to be taken back, but he nods nonetheless.

-.-

When she walks back into the café a few weeks later she freezes again at the soft voice and light strumming.

It doesn't hurt this time, and she's drawn to the closest table once again.

She can hear the lightness in the words, the chords, it's the kind of song you scream from the rooftops.

And when he puts away his guitar and walk up to her there's a smile on her face, that only gets bigger with a kiss.

A/N: So what did you think? This one was inspired by the line, we all have songs we don't sing anymore, and I wanted to explore the opposite of that, of exploring those parts not to be sad but to work through and move past. So yeah, that was this drabble. Hope this was a more substantial follow up to the last more rushed update!

Also! I want to get your feedback, what day of the week do you think I should update this series? What day works best for you?

Please Review! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

And as always, thanks for reading!

See ya! :)