A/N: Hey guys! Back again with another! Hope you like it!

It's not their anniversary.

But it is the day Annabeth Chase walked into Cali's Café and ordered a caramel macchiato. She doesn't know this, but he does (he may have memorized the date…for the memoir's sake, of course) because it still hits him every now and them that this is his life.

He's prepared a dinner (just a small little thing with three courses and fresh flowers and candles and okay so maybe it's not that small) for the occasion. Annabeth is supposed to be home any second now, so he rushes to set up the plates.

Deciding to leave the bottle of wine for when she shows up, he checks up on the pasta (that she loves so much) to make sure everything is ready.

The clock on the microwave reads 6:56 and she should be home around 7. (He even checks his phone to make sure).

Annabeth is aware that he's setting up a date night (though she doesn't know why or what it is) and he hopes she'll be surprised.

He's set up a candlelit dinner to differentiate it from their normal meals, complete with the mood lighting and ambiance.

It's 7:03 and he can't help but stare towards the door. She's more likely to get in at 7:15 anyway, but he finished earlier than he thought and waiting is hard, especially if you're waiting on a reaction.

So he starts to scroll through his phone. His guilty pleasure has become scrolling through the #percabeth tag on different social media. It's mostly positive comments about how cute they are, calling out posts they've made with each other and even the occasional paparazzi pic.

It's a slippery slope, though, and he always stops himself before he starts to get too in his head about it all. (Which, when it comes to Annabeth, he is very prone to doing). Exiting out of the app, he checks the time again.

7:32

She's still not home, but it's not unusual. Sometimes she runs late because someone pulled her into something, or she had to avoid paparazzi. He checks his texts ('cause she usually texts him if she can) but there's nothing.

He lets out a sigh, impatient and excited for her to see all this. He sends her a text.

Hey, when will you be home?

Staring at the words is unproductive so he opens up YouTube instead, hoping to distract himself as he waits.

One video about baking fluffy scones later and he's back to waiting. It's 7:53 and Annabeth is still not home. She also still hasn't answered his text.

The small sense of worry that he's been brushing aside becomes unavoidable now. It's been an hour and he's heard nothing. (Which isn't that long, he tries to reason with himself).

He sends a follow-up text.

Is everything okay?

If he did actually have the cool indifference of New York subway rider, then maybe he'd be okay. But he cares. He cares a lot.

It's been two years after all, one since he moved in. He's officially knee-deep into this.

The thought causes him to freeze. Two years ago today he'd met Annabeth Chase for the first time and made a fool of himself. And now…

Now he's making her dinner.

Well, made her dinner, that she still hasn't shown up to. Frowning, he checks his phone again.

Nothing.

If he was rational (and patient) he'd wait longer. But it's 8:02 and he decides to just call her. it rings.

And rings.

And rings again until it hits her voicemail.

He hangs up with a sigh, the worry building even more. Especially with who she is, anything could have—

Another thought strikes him.

Who she is… is a famous actress…with a bodyguard.

He texts Frank.

In a minute he has confirmation that she is fine, just at an event.

The rush of relief is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling. She's at an event…which means she's not on the way home, which means…she forgot.

He makes his way to the nicely made-up table and slumps down on the seat.

Though he knows it's not on purpose, he can't stop the hurt from forming. He also can't stop himself from opening the wine he'd been saving.

Obviously, the event is probably more important. Probably teeming with other rich and important people, he thinks bitterly as he takes a sip, with better food, better company…

He's well aware this is not a productive line of thinking.

So what if he wants to be a little self-destructive? He takes another sip of the wine. Technically, he should be entitled to it, after all, he's the one forgotten about.

He freezes as the scary thought (one he hadn't had in a while) enters his mind. Today, sitting alone at a table for two, he can't help it.

Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the shitty feeling, or maybe it's just because he hasn't thought about it in a long time, but he falls back into the fear of being left and forgotten again.

Pushing the plate aside, he rests his head on the table, covering it with his arms as if he's back in high school napping in class.

He's lost his appetite. Full on wine, he lets his eyes flutter close. Maybe then the horrible feeling will go away.

At some point, he must doze off because the next thing he knows, a hand is shaking him awake.

"Percy?"

His eyes shoot open at the sound of the voice.

There's pain in that voice.

Annabeth comes into view in front of him, bending over him. He sits up, trying to remember what's going on, and then he sees the wine.

And the empty plates.

And everything rushes back to him.

"Percy," she says again, voice breaking. "I'm so so sorry." He looks up to see the regret and guilt built up in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to, I—" she cuts herself off with a shake of her head. "There's nothing that can excuse this, I'm so sorry."

His eyes focus on the clock behind her. it reads 8:46, almost two hours since when she was supposed to be home.

"Percy," she repeats, getting on her knees so she's level with his chair, but still lower than him. "I'm sorry, please…"

Her voice sounds desperate. "Please say something."

"It's okay," his voice is crackly from disuse and consuming wine. It sounds far away even to him.

She shakes her head. "It's not, it's not okay. You did…" she trails off, looking at the candles and the plates and the food still sitting on the stove. "And I…"

Hanging her head, she brings her hands to her face. "God, I'm so stupid."

"You're not," he automatically defends.

She looks up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "But I am. How could I…I should have at least checked my phone. As soon as Frank told me, I rushed home. I know I messed up, Percy. I'm sorry."

It hurts him to see her like this.

Practically begging for forgiveness on her knees. It's not right.

He grabs her hand and pulls her up so they're both standing.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," she replies, a few tears escaping down her face. "I fucked up and I'm so sorry, please…" her voice breaks. "Please—"

He breaks whatever she's about to say by pulling her into a hug. She collapses into him, and they stand there like that for a minute before she pulls away.

"It's not about me," she sniffs. "It's about you and everything you did. And you are within your right to be upset and mad and hate me—"

"I could never hate you."

"I hate me," she says. "So you definitely can, and I shouldn't stop you from being upset. I deserve your anger too."

"I don't hate you," he repeats. "And I'm not mad."

"But you're upset."

Well, yes, he is. But it's clear she feels horrible for this and making her feel more horrible won't help the situation.

"Percy," she says quietly when he doesn't respond. "Tell me how you feel…please."

He can't bring himself to look at her, can barely bring himself to say the words. He thought he got over this insecurity ages ago, and yet…

"I thought you forgot about me…because you…you found something better."

"Never!" The word echoes loudly.

He feels her fingers on his chin as she forces him to look at her. Her grey eyes are blazing. "Never could I find something better than this, than you.

"Percy Jackson," she declares loudly. "I love you and I think I may have loved you from the moment I saw you in that coffee shop and you told me my drink was on the house to cover for the fact that you forgot to ask me to pay."

"And," she steps forward, "I will always love you. Just because I was an idiot today and made a mistake doesn't change any of that."

She meets his eyes. "I'll spend the rest of my life begging for your forgiveness, but I will always choose you."

He's stunned.

Annabeth's eyes are blazing passionately as she looks up at him, completely serious in her declaration. There's so much to process but the first thing he thinks is this is better than the hurt (he can't bear to see her cry).

The second is apparently. "You knew I forgot to ask you to pay?"

Her eyebrows flick upwards in surprise, as if she didn't expect those words. Honestly, neither had he.

"Your cheeks were flushed."

"I thought I played it off," he replies, frowning.

Annabeth cracks the tiniest smile. "You almost did. I'll never forget your smile that day."

"Two years ago, today."

Her small smile drops. "Oh my god…Percy…"

He watches as she once again takes in the vestiges of the forgotten dinner and realizes the reason behind it. "Oh my god," she repeats, covering her hands with her face. "I'm so sorry."

He gently removes her hands from her face and pulls her in. "I thought we were past that."

She buries her face into his neck. "Never, I messed up."

"You made a mistake," he clarifies. "It happens to everyone."

"But—"

"No buts," he insists. "Now please stop apologizing. I forgive you."

He pulls back at looks at her. "What did you tell me once? That you're only human? Well, it's human to make a mistake."

Annabeth looks like she knows he's right but isn't happy about it. Her stubbornness to apologize is actually a little cute. (Then again, almost everything is with Annabeth).

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

She looks up at him, hope in her eyes. "Very."

"Great, then how about we have—" his eyes glance at the clock 9:01 "—a late dinner?"

Annabeth nods gingerly. "Yes please."

He leads her to the seat and begins heating up the food that's gone cold.

"It won't be as good—"

"It'll be perfect," she interrupts. "Like you."

He can almost hear her stopping herself from apologizing as she watches him heat up the food, guilt still flooding her eyes.

"You can make it up to me," he says, not wanting to see her like this.

"How?"

"Enjoy the dinner I made for us," he says, bringing the pot to the table.

"That's a given, how else?" she insists. He plates her some pasta and then fills up his own.

She's still looking at him, anxiously.

It's one of those moments where his insecurities finally fade away again because she so clearly wants this. Wants them.

"You can pay for that caramel macchiato."

Her eyebrows scrunch together. "How?"

He leans forward expectantly.

"Make me a caramel macchiato."

The surprise is clearly written on her face, but she nods anyway.

"Whatever you want." But it's clear she's still reeling. He can almost see her try to figure out how she's going to make him the drink.

He has to hold back his smile as he takes a bite of the food. True to her word, Annabeth enjoys the dinner thoroughly, complimenting him on everything.

(He would think it's because she's trying to make up for what happened, but by dessert her eyes are lit up and it's clear she can't help herself).

Once the dishes are cleared away, he turns to see Annabeth standing at the espresso machine looking lost. It's adorable.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"Uh…yeah…that'd be nice." She opens the coffee grounds stored next to the machine. "These go in this compartment thing over here, right?"

He walks up right behind her to see where she's pointing. "Yeah," he replies right by her ear.

She jumps a little clearly surprised to have him that close but still starts to pack in the grounds.

"Is this right?"

"You're doing great," he whispers by her hear again. Her hair has fallen to the side, and he's momentarily distracted at the sight of her exposed neck. So, he doesn't stop himself from placing small kisses along her shoulder.

Annabeth visibly shudders. "Percy…" she whines breathlessly.

"Yes?" he asks her, extremely pleased with himself. Getting this reaction out of Annabeth is the best.

"This is too unfair of a punishment," she continues. "I can't concentrate."

He'd love to tease her further but honestly; his girlfriend is finally in his arms and he's so damn tired of waiting. So he spins her around and she immediately presses herself up against him.

"You can make it for me later," he says quickly, before his lips are on hers.

This is better than coffee anyway.

A/N: This is the two-year anniversary of the beginning of the how to handle fame series!

Shoutout to fantasticwagonduckbanana for sending this prompt through tumblr after first requesting it through AO3! Also shoutout to … for adding on to the prompt! I know you've waited eight months for this and I'm sorry but I hope it was worth it!

Thank you all so much for all the love this series has gotten, I really appreciate the immense amount of engagement that I truly didn't see coming for this series (I have an absurd number of prompts for this series lol)! The original was just a one off for How We Could Have Met and now two years later we've come so far!

Thanks again for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts so please Comment!

See ya! :)