Part VII. Lock and Key

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December 24, 2022

"Fuck."

Of course this is her luck.

Annabeth wiggles the doorknob again, and when it doesn't give, a few more choice words slip from her mouth. She'd be more concerned if there was anyone around to actually hear it, but there isn't. That's the exact predicament she finds herself in.

It's cold outside, which isn't unusual, but after twenty minutes standing locked out of her own father's house, it starts to slowly burn, like dry ice on bare skin. It's not so late that it would be unusual for a family to still be awake, especially during the holidays when people are traveling all over, so she's half convinced they're watching her through the security cameras and laughing at her.

Annabeth wipes her nose on the sleeve of her coat, pushing the discomfort of the raw skin to the back of her mind, and thinks, yeah, this was definitely intentional.

She'd try to pinpoint why she'd be intentionally locked out, but the reality is that it could've been any number of things. The reality is also that it probably isn't actually intentional because even her family, twisted as they are, wouldn't want a premeditated murder hanging over their heads. She's just bitter enough, though, to pretend they are that bad, and she decides that tonight's predicament is entirely because they found out she spent the night with Percy after ditching the Christmas party.

It's also entirely possible that the door was locked the night before too, and she just hadn't noticed.

She'll give herself a pass if that had been the case, because spending time with Percy was definitely worth it. It had been… just like old times. She hadn't expected it to feel that way while she sat in his passenger seat and followed him through the neighborhood stores for discount lights and cheap chocolate flavored candy.

They'd parted ways hours before, Annabeth choosing to spend some time with Piper. She'd promised herself she'd give him some space, as fun as the day was, because it wasn't fair to keep bothering him and letting him steal kisses between the tinsel and candy canes when she'd be leaving soon enough, putting them in the exact same situation they experienced before. She chose to lean upon the memories of the past few days for company instead of making new plans, but now the cold is freezing her to the core, and it's not like her own parents are going to be the ones to save her when she rings the doorbell for the sixth time.

Her eyes lock onto the front door. From the outside, it would look like she was examining the intricate designs on the surface, but the reality is she's wondering just how humiliated she's going to be calling Percy again so soon in the middle of the night to help her out.

The answer is: a lot.

"You're definitely the only person I would do this for," Percy says as he unlocks the bookstore for her.

There's a lot that goes unsaid in that sentence, and a lot that's implied. Words are louder than actions though, so when he'd picked up on the fourth ring and hadn't hesitated to haul himself out of bed to come get her, he didn't need to say anything for her to read between the lines.

Annabeth slips through the door quietly, eyes adjusting to the darkness as she awkwardly slides off her coat. He flicks the light on, and it takes a few more uncomfortable blinks for her eyes to stop burning.

A bout of deja vu slams into her as she remembers the last time they were here after hours. It had been forever ago, back when they were still in high school. She'd decided to accompany him to work after classes ended, and it was soon after she gave the cat a home in the bookstore, so she was perfectly content to stay there the entire night. Turns out when there's a pretty girl and no parental supervision, he was perfectly content too. They lost track of time, and when midnight rolled around and the alarms still hadn't been set for the night, Percy's mother had figured she better roll around to see what was up.

Poor girl showed up to find them in quite a predicament, fooling around in the back rooms.

She wonders if Sally ever recovered from that. Annabeth should've gifted her bleach that Christmas.

"You okay?"

Percy's voice is gentle, and it reminds her of a breeze at night, soft and slow as though to not startle her. Airy as the snow lining the ground at dawn.

"Yeah," she breathes, turning to him. "Just remembered something kind of funny."

"Well, don't keep it to yourself."

"I am not telling you," she says, but the slight smile gives away the general direction of her thoughts. "No way."

"What else are we supposed to do? Who knows when your dad is going to let you back in."

"Could be all night," she says seriously.

"I'm really hoping not."

"You're telling me you're not cherishing this time?"

"If it weren't the middle of the night, sure. I'm tired."

Annabeth rolls her eyes and chooses that moment to move further in and set her coat onto the wooden countertop. It's loud in the silence, just like the unsaid words. "Go home. I'll be fine by myself."

"Not a chance."

"Because you're just so heartwarming and kind, right?" Her voice falls flat.

"More like I don't trust you won't rob this place dry."

"Oh, you're right."

"It's the lit major in you." He laughs at his own words like it's the funniest joke he's heard in a bit. "I'd bring you back with me so you could get some sleep, but it's been a long night with Estelle, and I'd feel bad not asking my mom first—"

"You don't have to explain," she says. "This is more than enough."

He joins her at the counter, putting his weight onto his elbows. They're close, but not close enough for it to be considered intimate, which is for the best. From the moment she saw him, she'd been unable to forget the warmth of his embrace and the feeling of his lips on her skin. Any closer and they might find themselves in a similar situation to the past. "It's not a bad thing, though. This is practically your dream."

"Being locked out of my house with no company except you."

"You could be less disgusted about the me part."

"I really can't."

Percy snorts. "Alright."

"You're right about the book part, though. It's not the worst."

"Are you still a poetry type?"

"It's not my focus, but I still love it." He doesn't wait for her to stop talking before he's already weaving between the aisles. She watches in amusement as he almost trips over the cat they dropped off between errands who darts out from beneath a shelf, and when he's analyzing a few books before picking one out, she asks, "Why?"

"Well," he starts as he turns back toward her, waving an unfamiliar book at her. "Since you left, I've gotten more into poetry myself. It's not that bad once you really get into it."

"I've been telling you that since we've met."

"Yeah, well, I was stubborn." He shrugs and comes back to her to place the book in front of her. It's a collection of poetry, which isn't unusual. The book, though, seems old but in good condition, like it's been carefully preserved for years, waiting for the right person to come along and run the ridges of their fingers over each individual page, to get to know the experiences of the poets before them.

"Any suggestions?" she asks as he turns to a specific page.

"I've been more into Robert Frost since you left," he says, looking up at her for a moment. "Have you read Out, out? It's kind of tied into Shakespeare too."

Annabeth kind of wants to kiss him. Of course he'd get more into poetry after she's gone, but she also wouldn't doubt he did it because she was gone. It makes her smile, and she'd kiss him for real, if his attention hadn't returned to the book, reminding her of the situation at hand. They're only here because she has nowhere to go.

She's definitely read that poem before when she was, like, five, but to humor him, she tells him she hasn't.

"You've done your homework," she comments.

He flips to another page. "I've had six years."

The way he says it makes her feel like he always intended to tell her about poetry after she left. Like he always intended for her to return home to him, if only for a weekend. Like he had this waiting, preserved for her because he somehow knew she would come back before even she knew.

A moment of guilt takes over thinking of Percy holding onto that for her, no end in sight but hoping he'd find a way to give it to her. It reminds her of a child waiting hopelessly for something that would never come.

"Anyway," he says, and he's onto another page. "I'd recommend this one, if you ever get the time."

"How much is it?"

He gives her a bored look that reads, Really?

"What?"

"It's insulting you think I would make you pay for it."

Half of Annabeth wants to argue.

There's a smaller part of her that thinks there's meaning behind it.

"Do you just give out books to all the girls who walk in?"

"Only the ones that deserve it."

"And are there a lot of those?"

Percy winks. "A few."

Annabeth smiles and snatches the book from him. "Give me that."

"I don't actually give books away unless it's for a little kid without money or something, but the other day, Drew of all people walked in. I half thought she couldn't read, so imagine my surprise when she tried to flirt with me to get me to give her a few free books."

"Did it work?"

"I mean. I did give her the books just to get her off my back, but the flirting? Not so much."

"She's just going to come back for more now."

"That's when I hide."

Annabeth shakes her head at him, biting her lower lip. She wishes she could analyze him like she does everything else in life, pastel highlighters streaking across the important points, writing in the margins the things she loves. "Look at you. A neighborhood gossip."

"Oh, don't tell me you're above a little gossip."

"Depends on who it's about."

"Anyone you want. I have the scoop on just about everyone we went to high school with."

"God."

"You mean you don't want to hear about the adventures of Drew Tanaka?"

"I can never escape her, can I?"

"Probably not," he agrees. "I swear for as much as she says she hates you, she tries so hard to be you."

Annabeth laughs. "Does she really?"

"She does! She acts like she's obsessed with books and poetry, but I know for a fact that she hasn't opened a single one of those books she stole from me."

"You said you gave them to her," she points out.

"Against my will," he says. "I was flirted with."

"Seemed voluntary to me."

"You would do it too if Drew was five inches from your face."

Annabeth stifles a laugh into a cough.

"But seriously, she's obsessed with you. You become a writer, and suddenly she's a writer. She's been trying to hop on me ever since we broke up too."

"Should've taken her up on it."

"Funny."

"Anything else happen with Tanaka?"

"She's just insufferable as always," he says. "Sure you saw that a few days ago."

"I definitely did."

"Someone did start a rumor that she was pregnant, though. Says they saw her with a big ol' bump and that she's hiding the baby in the basement for the child support money."

"That's…" Annabeth blinks. "Wow."

"I know. Crazy, right?" Percy straightens with a smirk on his face, like this whole situation amuses him. "Anyway, I'd get a restraining order against her before she tries to peel your skin from you and step inside it."

"Have you considered that she might enjoy poetry?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Annabeth, no one enjoys poetry."

"I thought you did."

He smiles. "Did I say that?"

Annabeth laughs. "Any more gossip for me?"

"Leo from chemistry went to jail because he started a fire. Heard rumors that Jason's dead."

"That can't be true. Piper would've said so."

They trail into silence, and she lets herself look him over, any shame lost to the late hours. She really must've pulled him out of bed, and she'd feel bad, really, if it weren't for the look on his face like there's nowhere he'd rather be.

"What about you?" The green of his eyes seem darker. "Any gossip for me?"

"Just a bit," she says, and for a moment, it doesn't hurt as much when she thinks of where she came from. She's not sure what's changed. "You know, in LA, I have a friend. Connor. He's kind of like Drew."

Percy snickers. "Uh-oh."

"Not like that," she laughs. "He tried to be something that wasn't really him. He hated poetry, but he used to research poems anyway and try to make sense of it. He was awful at it—he'd be a terrible poet—but it was sweet."

It hurts less.

Something tells her it's because of the person standing next to her.

He's silent, analyzing her face, and she thinks he recognizes the name. She'd never admitted it to him, but it was never a secret. He's smart enough to ask around, to know where she's been, who she's been with. His gentle eyes tell her he knows.

"What happened with that, anyway?"

"With what?"

He tilts his head, and the dim lights seem to get darker. It's like teetering on a tightrope, only one direction to go. The thing is…she wants to go there. She wants to tell him what she never thought she could tell the person she once loved. The person she still loves. She just doesn't know how.

He smiles, and it's not hurt that flashes in his eyes.

"I think we both know Connor was more than a friend."

Somehow, when he's the one to say it, it's more difficult to look him in the eyes. It's like she's done something wrong, even if she didn't. She thinks it's because they took a path they weren't supposed to. Her and Connor were never supposed to happen, just as she was never meant to leave.

What happened to that?

He proposed. She said no. She said she wasn't ready, and maybe it had been the truth. At the time, she thought it was. She's not so sure anymore.

Now, in the bookstore with a cat hiding in the shadows, with Annabeth standing painfully in his line of sight, she can't admit the real reason she said no.

"He wanted a wife. I just wasn't ready."

He doesn't believe her.

She sees it in his stance, in the tension in his shoulders, in the look of disappointment flashes through him, in the way he doesn't say anything for a few seconds, the way he doesn't do anything at all, except stare directly at her.

His fingers find their way to the book, tracing over the leather spine. He feels the dip of the letters, the divots and creases, and it feels a lot like his fingers are on her, turning her in circles, analyzing her every move like he's the poet and she's the muse. He picks apart what she says, what she doesn't say, what's true, and what isn't.

"You have something to say," Annabeth challenges. Her fingers twitch towards the book, but she lets him have it. "Say it."

"I don't have anything to say."

But he does.

There are six years worth of words to say. It's a question of who's going to say those words first.

"Yes, you do," Annabeth says, frustrated. "Say it."

"Annabeth, please."

Her name, her name—

His lips, and her name. That's how they belong.

Percy sighs and catches her eyes. "The way you talk about Connor. You say that you weren't ready to marry him, and that's why you broke up."

"It was," but she knows that's not the truth.

The truth is something complex, lying on the road not taken.

His eyes dart around the room, like he's scared to look at her now, or like he's scared of what she's going to say next. Eventually, they find their way back to her, and he looks her up and down in the dim light in a way he hasn't done since long before she left, when they were still in love, when they didn't know that they'd be here six years later, familiar as strangers.

"You say that, but you're sitting here in my bookstore telling me about how great he was, and how he read you poetry he couldn't understand just because he was doing it for you."

She swallows.

"You're telling me he did everything right."

"He did."

"It just makes me wonder," he says, walking the tightrope.

As always, he's always known her better than she's known herself.

"Did you break up because you weren't ready to be a wife, or because you weren't ready to be his wife?"