"I'll see you around then?" "Yeah, sure... Wait, I don't even know your name!" / Percabeth
Word Count w/o AN: 2302
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, products, brands, etc. mentioned in this story.
Why'd you come in here lookin' like that
When you could stop traffic in a gunney sack
Why you're almost givin' me a heart attack
When you waltz right in here lookin' like that
Dolly Parton, "Why'd You Come Here"
Annabeth knew it. She just knew it. The Universe hated her. She'd had the shittiest day in the history of shitty days. This morning, in her hungover rush to get out of bed and into the shower before class, she'd run head-first into a lamp. How? She still wasn't sure, but her roommate Piper got a hell of a laugh out of it. And with the torturous headache that lingered from last night's events, the laughing sent her into a fit of pain. If only she had stuck to the flimsy oath she made as a naive freshman to limit her alcohol intake as to preserve her reputation and sanity. So much for that. And the luck didn't stop there. She had gotten her period, which led to bloating, which led to her previously selected outfit not fitting properly, and so on. All in all, luck just wasn't on her side today.
And as if the day hadn't been horrible enough as it was, just as the elevator doors slid close, a hand appears in the middle, willing them open again. Annabeth just wants to go up to her apartment, unbutton her jeans, and watch a couple of episodes of New Girl while eating Ben & Jerry's, but no, this ridiculously hot guy just has to walk in the elevator carrying a box larger than his body with one hand, looking both helpless and incredibly casual at the same time.
She likes to think she's a good Samaritan, so she begrudgingly straightens up and turns to the six-footer beside her.
"Hey, need some help there?" she asks, knowing that if he hands her a box, she'll get a better glimpse of the face that hopefully matches the rest of his body. And no, before the assumption is made, she is not some kind of pervert. She just needs a little uplifting today and a handsome face would probably do the trick.
Annabeth hears him let out a sigh of relief as he awkwardly tries to pump his fist in the air. "Yes, please. I'm dying here." His voice is deep and he has a thick New York accent, and lord help her, she's never liked the people of this stupid state, but if she gets to hear this man's voice speak for even a second more, she's willing to go stand in a subway station and let some snooty homeless guy spit on her for all she cares.
'Calm down you idiot, calm down' she thinks, plastering her most charming smile to her face. (In case you were wondering, it's not all that charming. Annabeth was notorious for her insane resting bitch face. So when she does try to force a smile, it looks more like a twisted, lopsided frown-grin than any kind of smile).
She lets out a chuckle and grabs two of the smaller cardboard boxes sitting inside the giant one.
"Thank you so much."
Annabeth looks up to see his face now that it isn't shielded by a hideous brown box. And oh holy mother of god, she's never seen anything like him. (Reminder #2 that she is not a pervert, simply admiring the work of art in front of her, though she understands how that can come off as slightly weird).
He has black windswept, totally unkempt hair and these piercing green eyes that stare into her soul. Normally, her borderline OCD tendencies would want to force some kind of comb through the bird's nest on his head. But for him it works? And that jawline, holy shit that jawline. Annabeth has to keep herself from staring and melting right there. And then she realizes that she's holding an incredibly heavy box that her incredibly handsome new neighbor was somehow carrying along with a larger box and she starts to feel the weight in her non-existent muscles.
It's times like these where she wishes she had actually started going to the gym in high school so she'd get used to it. But no, she was too busy sitting in classes that taught her literally nothing about life. She crosses her fingers—metaphorically, not physically because then the box would fall—and just hopes that she somehow acquires the strength that it takes years to build and can suddenly hold up this box (which probably isn't even that heavy, she's just weak) and not quiver like a scrawny thirteen year old boy.
But as she had discovered earlier itself, the Universe is just not on her side today. So naturally, she drops the box within seconds of picking them up, merely watching as the cardboard hits the elevator floor and the contents go flying. Annabeth scrambles to apologize, knowing that any shot of impressing this gorgeous man next to her just flew out through the somehow still wide-open doors of the elevator. But to her surprise, he just laughs. Not little giggles or pity laughs. Straight up guffawing followed by some very pig-like snorting.
If it were any other person or really any other day, Annabeth would have given him a look of disgust and walked away, but on him, it's endearing, charming even.
Annabeth bends down to pick up the fallen contents of the box and somehow doesn't seem to notice her mysterious stranger do the same. They both reach for the same picture frame. Their hands touch. Sparks fly. Blah blah blah they fall in love and get married, have three kids, and inevitably get divorced ten years later like every perfect rom com. Or so Annabeth wishes.
If only. Instead, as she bends down, her right leg moves sideways in a way only someone who is extremely uncoordinated can move, and rams straight into her neighbor. Not only does he come tumbling down, but so does the box he's carrying. And yes, the contents of the second box go flying as well. How delightful.
By this point, Annabeth is just done. The Universe is simply sending her a huge 'fuck you' in the form of this tall, gorgeous man with an incredible sense of humor and unending optimism.
The man—she really needs to find out what his name is—continues to laugh as he repacks the boxes and helps her get up.
"Well, I bet you've never met a more helpful person," Annabeth says, immediately chiding herself on her inability to flirt in sentences that make sense.
Hot Guy (she's resigned herself to calling him that) chuckles, "Next time I need help moving or heavy lifting, I'll be sure to call you."
"Then you'll need my number, won't you?" Annabeth replies, trying her hardest not to let her appreciation for her own pick-up line come through.
"Smooth."
"I know, right?"
"Well, since you put it like that…" Hot Guy trails off, handing his phone to Annabeth.
She inputs her number and hands back the phone. Realizing that neither of them had actually pushed the button for their floor, Annabeth sighs and presses the little 3 and lifts up the boxes to stack them in Hot Guy's arms. And by some miracle she doesn't drop them this time.
The third-floor dings and the elevator opens. Annabeth and Hot Guy step out and turn to one another.
"I'll see you around then?" Hot Guy asks and Annabeth can't tell if he wants to or feels obligated to since she just forced her phone number into his phone with a horrible pick-up line—if it can even be called that.
"Yeah, see ya," she responds, far too casual and desperate at the same time.
She turns to walk away, then remembers one crucial detail.
"Wait! I don't even know your name!"
But by that point, he's too far down the hall to even hear.
-Ω-
The next time they meet, it's no less embarrassing. It's been about a week since Annabeth first ran into Hot Guy in the elevator, and she can't seem to get him out of her damn mind. He still hasn't texted or called her and by this point, she's given up on any hope that he'll even remember who she is.
This time, it's Annabeth who is lugging the heavy baggage. Piper decided that it was about time Annabeth began pulling her weight and contributing to the meal process in their apartment since Piper was the one who always did the cooking and cleaning and buying groceries. Mainly because Annabeth can't cook for shit. She struggles to microwave mac and cheese without causing some kind of house fire. So she graciously volunteered to go purchase groceries from the nearby store in order to appease her roommate and avoid being around the mealtime-educed craziness that is sure to ensue once Piper enters the kitchen.
It just so happens that the one day Annabeth has to carry approximately seventeen bags filled with heavy groceries, the elevator breaks down. To a normal person who exercises frequently and follows a balanced diet, climbing up three flights of stairs would be a breeze. But to Annabeth, who has just relied on her lucky genetics and fast metabolism, the stairs are like Sisyphus' punishment: grueling and never-ending.
She's two flights in, just one left to go when someone knocks into her. She wasn't paying attention because she's too focused on balancing the bags while simultaneously making sure the eggs don't crack. The person who knocked into her is far too consumed in their music to notice that they physically ran into another person. Annabeth falls down at least four stairs and her groceries go flying in every possible direction (so the eggs she's been trying to protect are now for sure cracked). She stands up, brushes off her jeans, and is ready to fight whoever ran into her. But when she looks up, she sees Hot Guy standing there in all his glory with the most pathetically apologetic look on his face. He literally looks like a heartbroken dog. And believe her, it is very much impossible to be angry at a face that looks like that.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry, I should have been paying attention," Hot Guy says seemingly sincerely.
"Not a big deal. This seems to be a common enough occurrence," she replies with a chuckle.
If she has to keep running into him at inopportune times just to see his face, she'll more than take it.
"At least let me help you pick everything up."
Not willing to pass up an opportunity to talk to this godlike specimen, Annabeth offers a simple smile and nod.
They gather up what's left of the groceries and start re-bagging them in silence.
"So," Annabeth asks. "Where were you headed in such a rush?"
"I slept in so I'm late for class," he responds sheepishly.
"It's eleven AM on a Saturday. What kind of class could you possibly have?"
"Oh, I teach guitar to kids on the weekends. Gotta pay for college somehow right?"
'Fantastic', Annabeth thinks to herself. Not only is he the most gorgeous man on this planet but he's also a literal angel. If she thought he was out of her league before, now he's in another fucking ballpark altogether. But honestly, Annabeth could not care less. To stick with the sports metaphors, she'd struck out enough times to have any kind of shame whatsoever in situations like this. So screw it.
"That's incredible. I'd love to hear you play sometime."
Hot Guy grins, "And I'd love to play for you. I actually play at Calypso's Cafe on Fridays if you want to come watch. I'm on at around 6 tomorrow."
Annabeth internally spontaneously combusts. But she plays it off nonchalantly (or so she thinks, her twisted smirk-smile making a surprise appearance) and agrees to his proposition.
"That sounds great! How long have you been playing?"
They stand for a couple of minutes just looking at each other and chatting back and forth until Hot Guy conveniently decides to check his watch.
"Oh shit. Shit shit shit," he exclaims before quickly covering his mouth with his hand. "Sorry, excuse my language but you know how I was running late before? Well I'm most definitely running more late now."
Annabeth nods and steps aside, "Well I won't keep you any longer. Good luck…" She hesitates and looks up at him.
"Percy. Percy Jackson. And thank you! I'll see you tomorrow," Hot Guy- well actually, Percy- says as he continues down the stairs.
"Then it's a date," she replies, immediately realizing the weight of her words. "Well, not a date, but I'll be there! Sounds great. Yeah okay cool."
Percy just smirks slightly and nods a goodbye before disappearing down the spiral.
'Percy. Peeerrccyy', Annabeth repeats to herself. A strange name, that's for sure. But it suits him. Kinda sexy, kinda mysterious, kinda goofy. Gods, what a combination. And she had a date with him. A date with Percy Jackson aka Hot Guy aka "holy shit Piper you will not guess the kind of specimen I just ran into in the elevator oh my god he's absolutely gorgeous it should be illegal to look that good and his VOICE holy ughh". Or, well, not a date. But he'll be playing for people. She will be watching. So by association, he's practically going to serenade her. The logical side of her brain tells her to calm down, but the devil on her shoulder takes over and lets her imagination run free. Either way, she'll be able to interact with him. Again. And that's all she's really asking for. Where will it go? She doesn't know. But she's ready for excitement of some kind.
Annabeth trudges up the stairs to the third floor, broken eggs and mishandled groceries long forgotten. But it's not long before she makes another trip down, followed by an angry Piper with a spatula in hand, ready to whoop her ass.
Guess who's back... it's probably been over a year since I've posted anything, but sometimes life just gets in the way. This was just something fun and quick that came to me. I like writing slightly pervy, horny Annabeth. It's like my subconscious being channeled through my writing, and I mean that in the least weird way possible. Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Hope y'all are doing well.
Thanks,
-AGJP