Part I. Aurora

—

Aurora had but newly chased the night,

and purpled over the sky with a blushing light

—

December 14, 2016

"You realize you're a terrible boyfriend, right?"

Percy rolls his eyes fondly at the voice, not bothering to turn his head. Annabeth comes around him a second later, an accusing and playful grin on her face.

"I'd be a better boyfriend if it wasn't nearly ten degrees outside," he says dryly. He opens his arms up to her, and she steps into his warm embrace gladly. He's leaning against a wooden fence post outside of their school, where he usually waits for her to show up after the bell rings for the last class of the day. He realizes she's poking fun at him for not meeting her directly outside of her class, but he finds it too cold to walk all the way over to her only to walk back in the same direction. "Have you considered that a good girlfriend wouldn't make their boyfriend wait too long, freezing their ass off outside?"

"I have considered that, actually," she says, pulling away from his hug for a moment to kiss his jaw before nudging her face back into the crook of his neck. "I just decided that I don't care."

"Great girlfriend you are," Percy says sarcastically.

This is an everyday occurrence. He makes fun of her for it all the time, teasing that she loves to stay at the high school after hours because she's just that much of a nerd. She always tells him the same thing, that she was distracted speaking to her English teacher about her latest writing, and Percy responds that he could've told her the same things as her teacher to save time. Annabeth always has something to say back, of course, reminding him that he's obligated to say he enjoys her writing even though he's never read it, to which Percy says he doesn't need to read it with how often she reads it aloud when he's trying to sleep, and…

It's their little routine.

He doesn't particularly mind it. His fingers have been numb for at least ten minutes while he's been waiting for her, but if he's being honest, it's his fault anyway for not wearing gloves in the middle of a harsh Upstate New York winter.

"I was talking to Mr. Brunner," she says, and he jerks away from her when she shoves her cold nose into the skin of his neck. "I wrote another chapter last night, and he says he has a friend who works in publishing who might enjoy it."

"That's great!"

"You haven't even read it yet," she laughs, looking up at him. "I could've written three thousand words of the evolutionary use of tentacles, for all you know."

"Testicles?"

"Tentacles."

"I'm sure your three thousand words about testicles are fantastic." He kisses her forehead.

"I'm sure you think that."

"You're the best writer around here."

"Being the best writer in East Aurora isn't going to get me very far," she laughs. "It means nothing when the town population is, like, thirty people. Mr. Brunner actually said that there's this internship in California for aspiring writers. I'm not sure how it works, but he told me if I look at a few schools over there, he could send a few letters of recommendation for that program."

"California is far."

"It's just a thought," she says. "Wouldn't it be cool?"

"That would be great," he encourages. "Would you want to go to California?"

"And leave behind this exhilarating town? Never."

"Well, when you put it like that…"

Annabeth laughs and laces her hand with his. She tugs him along. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

She's wearing gloves, so he appreciates that she's holding his hand. The fabric is warm and soft, thawing his icy fingers. He tugs her into his side, and her hair is soft against his cheek. She has earmuffs on, and her blonde curls are tangled beneath them, adorned with delicate snowflakes falling from above. He does his best to subtly smooth down her hair without melting too many snowflakes because they look dainty and sparkling before giving up when his finger accidentally gets caught and tugs a strand and she whines in pain.

This is another part of their routine. He's told her before that there's no need for her to head to work with him, but she always insists anyway. He doesn't mind the extra company because Hestia's Cornerstone is always relatively empty. It's more a hobby than a job, having worked there since he was a little kid. He remembers being five years old putting a few of the books on the shelves with his mom following after to fix the location because he didn't quite understand arranging by genre. He's gotten better at that, though, and he's even good enough to be left alone working the family bookstore. Not that he's alone very often, because Annabeth is more often than not right by his side after school.

"How's Maisie?" Annabeth asks.

"She refuses to hang around when you're not here," Percy tells her. "I don't know how you two are friends."

"Oh, don't be like that. She's so sweet."

"She's a gremlin."

"She's my gremlin," Annabeth says. "Be nice."

Percy grumbles, dissatisfied, but continues on. The walk through the small town isn't too long, but by the time he reaches the bookstore, he's lost feeling in just about every body part.

The bells on the door chime when he pulls it open. He holds it for Annabeth to duck through before he enters himself, and the warmth of the bookstore almost burns from how cold it had actually been outside.

He watches as she makes an immediate dash for the kitten that's taken residence in the wooden bookshelves. Annabeth had found the kitten wandering the streets a few months ago, just when it was beginning to get cold, and one night, she brought it into the store. The kitten had been cute initially, curling up on top of an old book Percy left open on the counter. He sympathized with that. There's something comforting about vintage books, old words typed precariously on pages, and if he were able to, he would spend his days nestled snugly against pages stained yellow with time. Percy is fond of Annabeth and her bleeding heart when she sees stray animals on the streets, but he's slightly less fond of the cat that bit him when Annabeth wasn't the one around late one night to feed it.

Percy greets the worker behind the counter, an old family friend, while Annabeth scratches gently behind Maisie's ears. Maisie purrs contently, and Annabeth coos.

"You know," Annabeth says, looking up at Percy, "maybe if you were nicer to her, she would like you."

"I'm plenty nice to her," Percy says. He tucks his coat behind the counter, murmuring to the worker behind the counter that he can head out before he clips his name tag to his sweater. "I let her stay here, and I buy her food."

"She can sense you don't like her. Cats are intelligent animals."

"I want to make stew out of your cat."

"Percy!"

"She's mean, Annabeth."

"I have never seen her be mean to you."

"Her sweetness is a ploy," Percy says, but he moves from behind the counter anyway to come up behind Annabeth. He extends a hand to scratch behind the cat's ear, and Maisie nudges her face into the palm of his head, content. "She's only nice to me when you're around."

"That's not true, is it Maisie?" Annabeth traces her finger down Maisie's blonde tail. "Can you believe he wants to turn you into stew? It's a good thing I'm around to stop him. You wouldn't be a very tasty stew."

Percy chuckles adoringly before heading back to his place behind the counter. There's only two people hanging around in the back, heads ducked together murmuring about something he can't hear. It's never too busy. Most people tend to buy their books online and new, so few people end up in places like this, with warm lighting and a stray cat taking up residence among classic vintage books.

He watches as Annabeth plays with the cat for a few more moments. She dangles a stray cat toy in front of her face, which is really a wooden stick from outside with an extra Christmas bell Percy tied to the end, and the cat swats at it a few times before getting bored and laying on her back instead. Annabeth fawns over Maisie, captivated with the way she sprawls out on a counter by a window, sunbathing in the bright light and watching snowflakes settle onto the ground outside.

"Why don't you take her home?" Percy asks, leaning against the counter. "She'd probably like it there more."

"In my house?" Annabeth laughs and strands up from where she'd been kneeling on the ground. "There's not a chance that would be a better place for her. There's too much screaming."

Percy looks at her sympathetically. "It hasn't gotten any better?"

"I don't think it will get better," Annabeth says. She picks the cat up into her arms, petting languidly along her back. She follows him behind the counter, and she leans next to him. "I've given up getting along with them. Maisie's better off here, anyway. I'll take my chances with you turning her into stew."

Percy feels a pang of sadness for her, but he smiles anyway. "For you, I will let her hang around. It's good for business too."

Her eyes glance to the side before landing back on him. "Because you get so much business, right?"

"You're our number one customer," Percy says brightly. "Buying anything today?"

"I don't have much to spend right now."

Percy rolls his eyes, straightening from the counter when the couple wandering around comes up with their hands holding two books. He gets ready to check them out, and he looks up at Annabeth. "Go pick something out."

"I've actually been looking for something specific," Annabeth says, letting the cat jump out of her arms. Maisie simply rubs against her leg lovingly. "Robert Frost?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"You work at a bookstore," she laughs, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll take a look around."

His eyes follow her around, watching her weave her way in and out of the bookshelves. The cat follows her like a shadow, though Percy knows the cat is going to go into hiding once she's gone. He's tried to get the cat to like him, offering endless treats and psspspsp's, but the cat just seems to love Annabeth. He gets it, though. Annabeth is warm, a ray of light shining through the clouds on a cold and snowy day. Annabeth is an old book with carefully chosen words written in the dark of the night, a beautiful vulnerable person, and he's fallen in love with her for it. They grew up in this small town, and it's not far enough up north to see the Northern lights, but she reminds him of that, of the sliver of hope and innocence and the sublime that one feels staring up at the aurora borealis green, and he doesn't mind having a cat hang around his bookstore when it's for her.

"Make yourself at home," he says sarcastically when Annabeth suddenly reappears next to him, perching herself on top of the counter next to him. She gets comfortable as he finishes checking out a customer. "What did you pick?"

"It's a collection of poetry," she says, holding the book up to his sight. He doesn't recognize it, though he's sure he's the one that placed it on the shelf. He thinks she looks adorable, craning her head to look at the cover herself. The words are printed in gold, and the corners of the book are worn and bent, but she rubs her fingers over them with gentleness and care. She looks adorable as she does so, her cheeks still rosy from the cold, her fingers still wrapped in gloves, making it slightly difficult to grab the spine of the book. "Robert Frost is in it, obviously."

"Obviously," he teases. He scans the back of the book the couple is paying for and sets it aside. She's quiet while he finishes with the other customer. She's captivated by the pages, turning each page, feeling the rough paper beneath the pads of her fingers. He thinks he knows what's going through her mind because he's heard it a thousand times. She's always loved the feeling of something real, and while she appreciates how advanced life has gotten, how she can have anything she desires right in front of her, none of it beats the feeling of delicately crafted paper with creases from the people who loved it before.

He turns around after the person leaves, placing his palms on either side of where she sits on the old dark counter, trapping her. "Anything you like?"

Her finger traces her page slowly, as if bringing the words to life, lifting them off the page. "I really like this one."

He tilts his head to see where he points. The ink reads The Road Not Taken. "Sounds mysterious."

Annabeth sniffs and moves the book away. "You just don't appreciate the beauty of literature."

"I do," he swears, pushing himself off the counter as the door chimes with another customer. "I think you're awfully pretty."

"As sweet as that is, literature and I are not one and the same."

"I don't know about that," he disagrees, smiling and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "You read so much that you're practically walking around spitting out poetry."

"Not that you ever listen to me," she says slyly. Maisie jumps onto the counter then to curl up in Annabeth's lap.

"I listen to you all the time!"

"Give me one quote."

Percy laughs and tries to look at the page open in her hands, but she pulls the book away from his sight accusingly. He uses a finger to tilt the book back in his direction, and she doesn't stop him this time, but she is looking at him in amusement.

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

"Tell me what it means."

"Isn't that your job?" Percy asks, prying the book from her hands. "I'm awful at poetry."

"Which is insulting, considering where you work. Give it a try."

And he's never been good at this, but for her, he tries. "There are two roads, right? And he has to decide which is the better road. I think…he decides the one that less people take, thinking that's the better option, and in the end, it impacts his life."

"Not bad."

Percy dusts off his shoulder playfully. "I work at a bookstore. It's to be expected that I'm a poet."

Annabeth laughs.

"Was the road the right decision?"

Annabeth's brows furrow and she hums, looking closer at the book. "I don't know."

"That's a new one."

"He hesitates in the poem," she says, thinking out loud. Percy thinks it's adorable, and he brushes a strand of hold hair out of her eyes. "Maybe he wasn't sure if it was the right decision. It's past tense too, so he could be looking back on the decision and hesitating because he knew it was the wrong one."

"But he had free will," Percy proposes. "Is there a right decision if it's his decision to make?"

"Maybe it's not a right or wrong decision, but a better and worse one."

"Hmm."

"Poetry is so vague," Annabeth states, flipping the page.

"I thought you liked poetry."

"I mean, I do, but if I write poetry someday and some high schooler misinterprets my words, I'm going to haunt them."

"The beauty of literature."

Annabeth looks up, smiling subtly. "As if you would know."

"I read, sometimes."

"Right."

"Things are boring when you're not around to keep me company," he says. "Sometimes, I read Shakespeare to woo you."

"Consider me wooed," Annabeth says. The person to enter the store a minute earlier is still somewhere behind the shelves, so she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. "You're pretty irresistible when you analyze poetry."

"I'm so glad you think so," he says, swatting the cat's paw away when it reaches out for his shirt. "Am I even more irresistible when I give you free books?"

Annabeth grins widely. "Oh, definitely."

"Merry Christmas."

"Are you giving me a free book?" she asks, clutching the leather bound pages to her chest.

Percy doesn't answer, instead drawing her in for a kiss. He lingers there, kissing her on the lips a few more times before moving to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her nose. Then he answers, "Yes."

"I love you," she breathes out, and she looks beautiful like this, rosy cheeks smiling inches away from his face. "And your mother, because this is her bookstore and she's unknowingly giving me a ton of books to take home."

"And she's going to remain unknowing, right?"

Annabeth mimics zipping and locking her lips before throwing away the key.

The cat flips in her lap and nearly falls to the floor, drawing her attention away from him. He doesn't mind so much, watching fondly as she asks the cat if she's alright.

Years ago, he'd wanted to take a break from working here. He spent weeks whining to his mom about it taking too much time, and how no one else is working around his age, and he keeps seeing people he knows, but his mom stood her ground. It had been worth it, though, when the next week, Annabeth was the one to walk through the door. He'd seen her around before, and he thinks he had a few classes with her in middle school, but he hadn't said a word to her in years. She used to seem intimidating, but it's hard to maintain that facade when she comes in with rosy cheeks and a smile to melt the snow. She was there every week for the next book, and over time, she started talking to him, telling him about her story ideas and how excited she is for the next book. Percy had never been one to fawn over writing, but he imagines her one day being the person to write words that really mean something. They became friends and he looked forward to seeing her. He started analyzing her and her choices, noticing a pattern of poetry and classic literature, and the next week she came, he was waiting with a book he picked out.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly hadn't been for her to kiss him.

They fell in love between these dusty shelves, laughing their nights away when he's supposed to be closing, playing with the cat she pulled from the streets.

In the middle of this tiny New York town, he found a stray blush of colorful light.

merry christmas i hope you enjoy xx