102

by leighismyname

the one where Annabeth is a wry, broke concert photographer, living in New York, and Percy is a golden hearted Canadian, in search of a mysterious girl he'd met at a concert. They meet, then meet again, and finally decide after the third chance meeting that a number exchange must be in order. (shout out orange pens and messy hands, the reason this story left my google drive)

2. Chapter 2

"Calypso, this is Annabeth, she's been helping me parade around these concerts tying to find you!" Percy said, the happiness evident in his grin.

Annabeth couldn't recall ever "helping him look for Calypso", but smiled anyway, reaching a hand out to shake the girls'. "Nice to finally put a face to an unsolved mystery."

Calypso patted Annabeth's hand, her autumn eyes never leaving Percy's shining face. Annabeth awkwardly shoved her hand back to her side, wiping them on her jeans.

"I can't believe I found you here!" Calypso was saying, her neon pink manicured hands clutching Percy's forearm. An animalistic instinct in Annabeth urged her to snarl, bare her hissing teeth, and rip Percy right off this hoppy little gazel before attacking in a most violent and feral way.

Instead, Annabeth just stood watching Percy, who was unfairly glowing in the afternoon sun, shine brighter than she'd seen him since she met him, all because of the girl he'd been chasing. The girl Annabeth had assumed was her.

She had been foolish thinking he ever felt the same. Annabeth had been nothing but a placeholder, a convenient friend who happened to go to concerts frequently enough that Percy could hang out and also look for the actual love of his life.

Thalia had been dead wrong, and despite the tragedy and horror and ptsd Annabeth is sure to face from this afternoon alone, she's gonna make Thaila pay for believing her feelings had been reciprocated. Nothing a little virgin cocktail and high school theater acting lessons can't fix (i.e. apple juice and ice cream payback).

And Wales, Annabeth remembered, she's leaving in one week. How can she tell Percy now? How was she ever expecting to tell him? The easiest option is to leave it so far up in the air, it orbits into another atmosphere and is never seen again (or, more plainly, never tell Percy. Deal with consequences later).

If she told him, it might mess things up detrimentally. What if he wants to go with her?

Oh, god.

What if he brings Calypso? Annabeth clutched her stomach just imagining. Percy's arms covered in bags (her camera equipment and all of Calypso's nonsense)(yeah, they just barely met, but hell if Annabeth isn't going to assume mildly annoying things about her, like constantly having way too much stuff and making someone else carry it for her). She digresses.

Too much stuff or not, Annabeth couldn't go to a concert as a third wheel. With Jason and Piper, sure! Her and Leo could spend the night folding origami napkins and sneaking them into strangers bags like they did at clubs in high school. Hell, even if she was alone with any other couple, she could find something to occupy herself.

It was just-

Percy.

Annabeth can't focus when he's in the room, even if it's just the two of them. The way his dark hair falls into his eyes and how he periodically runs his fingers through it to push it all back. The fabric of his shirt, teasing her as it brushes against his skin. She wondered how soft it would feel, the shirt that is, against her fingers, and how his chest, all warm and hard and soft in the right places, beating like thunder against his rib cage, would feel underneath it. His smile, that damned smile, and how he bites on his bottom lip when he's thinking, and that little furrow between his brows. Annabeth just wanted to run her fingers over his existence, caress the soft lines and edges of his countenance, and explore what she finds there.

Damn him. Damn Calypso. Damn it all.

Before, the mystery of him had been an exciting one. How his lips would fit against hers for the first time. How he would wrap his arms around her and touch her. Would he go for her waist? Would he take it slow, enjoy her, or would he rush all in, desperately?

Oh, boy, Annabeth thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Here comes the nausea again.

It's just unfair, she thought, that Calypso gets him first. The girl he spent all his savings chasing after. The girl Annabeth (Thalia) had been convinced wasn't real, who is very, very real. Very, very beautiful (in the way that her hair is long and anyone around her can smell the soft shampoo she uses; her nose, straight and dainty, painted in adorable freckles; short in the way guys like, with a frame worthy of envious stares from all surrounding girls; big, moisturized lips and a contagious smile like morning sunshine). It shouldn't be a surprise he would end up with someone like that, even if it does feel like a dagger to her heart.

She had been looking for Percy, too. Probably traversed place to place, her eyes scanning the crowd for his mop of black hair.

Even that, just that thought, sends a lightning strike of envy (or jealousy, whatever) arching through Annabeth. That was her mop of black hair. She'd spent entire nights imagining running her fingers through it, curling it, tugging at it, holding him by the head and pulling him down into a searing, quaking kiss-

"Annabeth?" Percy's voice breaks through her train of thought. She shakes her head and looks up at him, the sun behind his head turning him into a dark silhouette. "Did you hear me?" he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a devilish smirk.

Unfair. "What? Sorry." Annabeth blinked, her eyes finding her worn converse in the grass. Percy was wearing mismatching socks under his vans, something Annabeth only knew when the cuffs had ridden up on the subway earlier. Calypso had brown strappy sandals that went up to her thighs. Maybe if Annabeth had worn something girly- like something an actual girl would wear- she'd get the guy. Strange to find out after all this time- she's probably just not his type.

Percy laughed, a balloon under his chest inflating everything about him. Oddly, he seemed over the moon. It started an itch on Annabeth's arm that she began picking at nervously. "The next set is on the other lot. Do you wanna grab something to eat first?"

"Or there's rides!" Calypso interjected excitedly. Annabeth doesn't think she's looked away from Percy once since they reunited. Maybe that was Annabeth's problem. She's spending too much time worrying about Calypso, when maybe she should be fawning over Percy like he invented the wheel.

Something in Annabeth (no matter how cute or lovely or how much of a banana he was) didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Also, there was no way he'd be into that! But maybe she'd just been reading him wrong this whole time.

Calypso continued: "I've always wanted to go on the big wheel!"

Percy looked at her incredulously. "The ferris wheel? You've never been on one?"

Calypso shook her head shyly. Percy lit up (if it was possible for him to get any brighter). "Now, we have to go. You're gonna love it," he began leading her in the opposite direction, then spared one glance back. "Come on, Beth!"

Annabeth tried picturing herself shoulder to shoulder with Calypso and Percy as they kissed for the first time over the New York skyline (and her lap) and decided quite quickly that she'd prefer a quiet night alone. She jogged to meet them. "Percy," she said, taking their vip passes from her pocket and putting them in his hand. Him and Calypso kept pace with their arms wrapped around each other, but he had turned to face Annabeth. His brows furrowed in an adorably confused way. "I'll meet up with you later, okay?" she said, knowing full well that as soon as he was out of sight, she'd bolt.

"Okay," he said, still a little confused.

Even though it broke her heart, she didn't want him to think about it too much, wonder too much why Annabeth's demeanor changed so rapidly after meeting his mystery soulmate, so Annabeth grinned, pointed at Calypso's back and gave two hearty thumbs up. Percy grinned back and pumped a fist in the air jokingly.

Then Annabeth stopped, her converse planted in the dying grass, as Calypso held Percy by his back pocket and took him away.

---

Annabeth wouldn't say she was dying- no, that's an exaggeration.

It was more like each day she would wake up, a massive bird would swoop into her bedroom, tear at her stomach, and remove another organ. However, not even she was lucky enough to have the gift of immortality, given the chance to heal in between each day. No, every morning, the wound would open again, and another fatally important piece of her was torn, ligaments ripping, muscle severed, flesh raw and bloody.

Soon she'd be nothing. She knew this.

She'll be leaving for Wales in two days. It's been five since she's spoken to Percy.

It wasn't odd that they'd go a day without speaking. But two? Three? Four? Five?

This was unheard of. This was the hell all those people were talking about.

"Swing and a miss, right?" Thalia had said, as if it wasn't her fault and her fault alone that all of this happened and Annabeth feels like her entire being is turned inside out and being pecked at piece by piece-

"It's not that simple," Annabeth responded. "First of all, this is all your fault- you have to know that. Second of all, I worked my way all the way up to being in love with him, so its not so much a 'miss' as it is a devastating failure that will certainly have negative and even traumatizing affects on me for the rest of my life."

"Okay," Thalia said through the phone. This was their fifth call in five days. (Annabeth's Percy withdrawals were only distracted by talking with friends)(translation: obsessing about Percy with any listening ear). "I'm not really understanding how this is my fault."

"You told me she didn't exist. You said she was me! That I'm the girl he's been pining after."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"Ugh," Annabeth groaned, throwing her head in her hands, attempting to massage the migraine that's taken permanent claim over her head. "Okay, I won't really blame this all on you, but you were reason I got my hopes up in the first place, so."

"So am I supposed to fix it? I've never even met the guy."

"No, no. Of course not." Annabeth sighed. She was so tired. Exhausted, really. With a boy she loved being charmed by a goddess-like temptress and Annabeth herself coming to terms with her own leaving in two days, its become exhausting. Very, very exhausting. She felt like she has to figure out a way to fix everything before she goes. But how?

Telling Percy how she really feels will only confuse him. He'll be trapped in the ultimatum corner, whether she puts him there or not, and he'll be forced to make a decision. Not telling him might be worse.

What if she comes back to a wedding invite sitting with the rest of her mail? He's going to have existed outside of Annabeth's life for three months, learning and growing with another girl. What if he forgets about her?

Then there's the whole deal with him not even knowing about her trip.

"If you're going to say anything, you should do it today. There's nothing like 'hey, I'm leaving for three months tomorrow, could you take me to the airport?'" Thalia said.

"I can't," Annabeth whispered. She sat at her desk, her head thrown in her hands, her eyes desperately scanning everything around them, searching for answers, though why they'd be sitting at her desk with her, Annabeth doesn't know.

"Annie," Thalia sang through the receiver. "You said it yourself that you don't want him to move on or forget you. What do think will happen when he finds out you're in Wales for two months and you never told him?"

"What's gonna happen if I do tell him?"

"You know I have no idea, Annabeth. Last time I gave you my honest guess, I was dead wrong. Do you really want my opinion again?"

"I can't tell him."

"You have to, Beth. No matter what his response is, he deserves to know you're leaving. You have to tell him." Thalia was right, he did deserve to know. "Or you can save us all the trouble and just tell him you're in love with him and you wanna kiss him all the time."

"Thalia!"

"What? Don't 'Thalia' me! You're literally always talking about his mouth! It's disgusting, you should hear yourself."

"I'll tell him."

"Yay!" Thalia cheers through the phone. "Do it in person or don't do it at all! And next time I'm gonna start charging you for my advice. Therapists aren't free and neither am I."

"Whatever you say, Thalia."

---

Annabeth waited, torturously so, for two thirty am.

Annabeth: are you busy?
He responded within five minutes.

Percy: yes, sleeping

Annabeth: liar! Meet me at the coffee shop

Percy: i have stuff in the morning!

Percy: im going back to sleep beth

Annabeth: never call me that again.

Annabeth: its important actually. Please come

Then he took five minutes to respond.

Percy: ill meet you there

---

Annabeth waited outside Thalia's coffee shop (closed) on the icy bench for fifteen minutes. She heard Percy's shoes scraping the sidewalk before she saw him.

"This better be important," he grumbled, landing on the bench and immediately leaning his head back, fluttering his eyes closed. Immediately, Annabeth could feel his warmth through his sweatshirt, and worse, could smell his soap, like fresh linen and ocean salt. This was already too hard.

"Percy," Annabeth said cautiously. To this, Percy opened one inquisitive eye, then noticing her serious demeanor, sat up fully, facing Annabeth with rapt seriousness.

"So it really is important," he said hesitantly. What Annabeth would give for a peak in his thoughts. Does he know her secret? Can he read the imperceptible expression of her face which screams with revelations and yearnings and love?

She really didn't know which truth would come out of her mouth.

I'm so stupidly in love with you. His hair was messy, flattened on one side from his pillow, tousling slightly from the breeze. His face, his perfect face, cheeks and lips flushed from the chill, green eyes bright and present, like a light at the end of a dock. Annabeth wanted to run her knuckles over his rough stubble. She wanted everything about him.

I'm leaving. He was wearing the same socks he had on last time they were here. Christmas socks, in late August, as if December were right around the corner. It will be, when she comes back.

"My boss is sending me to Wales for three months." Annabeth heard herself say. "Starting in Wales, then bouncing around a few nearby countries. I'm following this band that's just getting started. This is their first tour."

The details weren't important, but it distracted from the expression on Percy's face. His lips tightened into a pursed line, and the furrow in his brow deepened until even the edges of his mouth turned down. This was breaking her heart, even more than it already had been.

"That's- that's great, Annabeth. When do you leave?" His voice was hollow, trying to sound excited, even through a frown.

A few streets down, a car alarm began ringing.

"Since its already past midnight, tomorrow. I leave Thursday morning."

His shoulders dropped and his neck bowed with it. Her heart beat deeply, pounding against her chest as if it was drowning. "Why didn't you tell me?"

This was the part she hadn't prepared for. Annabeth wished Thalia's stupid twenty four hour coffee shop was actually open so she could go inside and shake some advice from her frustrating friend. She opted for the truth. Anything else was too far away. "I-I've never had a friend to leave behind like this. I didn't know how. This is my best attempt."

A huff escaped his lips. "Are-Are you excited to go?"

"Not right now." Again, the truth.

"So, don't go," Percy said, as if it was as simple as that.

"I have to," Annabeth said, because I can't be here when you're with her. I can't revolve around you as if you are the sun I gravitate towards when there is another girl sinking her claws into you. I can't even look at you now, in those adorable plaid pajama pants and that sweatshirt with the biggest maple leaf I've ever seen on it, and pretend like I don't want to fall into you, and never come back up. I don't want to leave but I have to go and its for the same reason. It's you. It's you.

"Three months, huh?" Percy said, and Annabeth bit down on her lip, hard, to keep any tears from forming. "I'll still be here in three months."

With Calypso, Annabeth wanted to say, but she didn't. It wasn't about that. It didn't have to be. "Just stay out of trouble, okay? I don't want to come back and find out you've been deported to Canada."

Percy chuckled, leaning against the bench, and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her back with him, easing the tension out of Annabeth's spine. "I'll be straight, don't worry. Besides, I was never a trouble maker 'till I met you."

"I guess I am a bad influence," Annabeth said, teasing, a smile (the betrayer) climbed her features, despite her better judgment.

"Good thing I got Calypso to keep me in line while you're gone," Percy added, squeezing her arm.

Annabeth didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded curtly, hoping he wasn't reading her expression.

He must have sensed something was wrong, or read exactly what she was thinking as it was written in plain script across her forehead, because Percy pulled his arm off of her, and even scooted a little bit away from her so he could fit his arm between them. Annabeth didn't want to admit how much colder it was without him so close. "I'm… I'm really gonna miss you, Annabeth. I-I wish you would've said something sooner. I would've come with you."

"I know," Annabeth said. "But who's gonna keep Calypso in line, right?"

Wrong thing to say. Wrong, very wrong. Percy just nodded. He didn't notice the massive bird swoop down, claw at Annabeth's stomach and fly away with her liver, but Annabeth felt the loss either way.

She sighed and her tense shoulders dropped. "I'm really going to miss you too, Percy."

He didn't say anything, but his ankled hooked under hers and it felt like forgiveness. "It's never going to be the same, is it?" he murmured. Annabeth glanced at him. His eyes furrowed at their linked ankles and his bottom lip jutted out just slightly in a pout. He was criminally adorable.

Annabeth shook her head. "No, I don't think it will be."

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the street to become busy with cars. Long enough for the sun to rise. Long enough for the coffee shop to open, which was their cue to leave.

"Let me drop you off at the airport," Percy insisted when they stood from the bench.

They stood in front of it, because Annabeth had to go left and Percy had to go right.

"You don't even have a car, Percy. It's- it's okay. Just-"- and this killed her to do- "-just say bye to me here."

His expression dropped and he looked at her like she might break, or like he would, if he got any closer.

Despite this, Percy hugged her. He went low, his arms wrapping around her waist, his head buried in between her shoulder and her neck, and he squeezed. Annabeth's arms curled around his head, one holding his shoulder and the other on his neck, her fingers just easing into his hair. He pulled her closer and she stumbled a bit towards him until he gave up on that and lifted her in the air against him, her feet swinging off the ground. Percy huffed once into Annabeth's shoulder, his warm breath against her neck sending lighting rippling across her nerves, then squeezed her again, tighter, closer, if it was possible. Tears (betrayers!) found their way to her eyes, threatening to spill if he got any sweeter, so Annabeth tucked her face in his neck and let herself enjoy being pressed against him. He smelled like laundry detergent and sleep and crisp morning air and something so warm and salty and just Percy, that Annabeth almost began tearing up all over again. Her fingers clutched his shirt and before she could wrap her other hand in the soft curls of his hair and sigh stupidly and contentedly like a school girl with a school girl crush, she pulled away, her toes and mind and body finding sold ground again.

Percy's arms wrapped around his chest and he rocked back on his heels. Annabeth had never wanted to kiss him more than she did in that moment.

"So this is really goodbye?" he said, his voice slightly hoarse and disbelieving. "For three months?"

Instead of answering, Annabeth said, "Thanks for this summer, Percy. It was- I'll never forget it. You- It's been a pleasure being your friend."

Percy's eyes swirled with an emotion Annabeth couldn't quite place. "Yeah, anytime you want to have the summer of your life, you know where to find me."

Annabeth smiled, a little sadly, because she knew she already had the summer of her life and she probably wouldn't be getting another one. Not with Percy, at least. He'll spend the next three months cultivating a strong, happy relationship with Calypso, and when Annabeth comes back, there won't be any room for her. This really could be goodbye forever.

So she treated it as such, and took one last moment to memorize how perfect he was. His messy hair framing his handsome face perfectly. A shadow of rough stubble covering his sharp jaw. Green eyes swirling as they do, a mix of a million things Annabeth would love spending all her time figuring out. His maple leaf sweatshirt, his pajama pants, mismatched socks, and his perfect, soft smile.

If it's a goodbye at all, at least it's a good one, Annabeth thought.

Before she can process what she's doing, Annabeth leaned forward, and grasped Percy's hand, running her fingers over his knuckles and squeezing. "Goodbye, Percy," she said, and turned, leaving down the sidewalk.

Half of her thought he'd grab her arm and hug her again. All of her hoped he would. Then when he didn't, she thought he'd chase after her, call her name, do something, but above all, not let her get away.

His silence was answer enough. He just thought of her as a friend. She was smart to not tell him about her feelings, because she might've not even gotten a quiet goodbye. Maybe he would've been angry at her, or disgusted. He definitely wouldn't have hugged her.

But now she knows. Whether or not she told him how she felt, he was always going to let her go.

That was enough.

---

Percy was very confused. Not an abnormal feeling, but now a constant, overwhelming level of whirling thoughts and ideas and possibilities and regrets but mostly, just confusion, pulsed inside his head, manifesting itself into quite the headache.

"What do you think about this one? Too pink? I'm not sure, but I love the sparkles, don't you?" Holding up another (another!) sparkly, strappy top (could also be a purse by the amount of zippers and ties, but what does Percy know?), Calypso frowned between the piece and Percy, awaiting his answer.

"Um," Percy said, attempting to appear as if he skims through the fashion and style catalog of his mind to determine the trendiness level of whatever shapeless, nameless item his girlfriend held. "Yeah, it's… cute. I like it."

"Are you just saying that?" Calypso said, returning the hanger to the rack and digging through the other color options, in a way that implied they hadn't been standing in a mall for three hours while the concept of 'clothes' became a misguided conspiracy Percy was beginning to consider after rapid exposure torture called 'shopping with a girl'. In the corner of his mind, a miniature Percy with a tweed jacket and an expression that read 'really, dude?', brandished a piece of chalk against a chalkboard, making a single small line, next to a number of other single small lines, all under text reading "Thoughts Percy Can't Tell Calypso". The miniature Percy shook his head disapprovingly, snapping a wooden pointer against the top corner of the board, where the current date was displayed.

Percy liked to consider himself a good guy, but anybody can have their defenses weakened, specifically at the mall.

At least, that's what he told himself.

"No, yeah. It's super… shapely." Three hours ago, he had better words at the top of his mind. Things like 'summery' and 'nice' that worked a lot better as compliments.

Calypso didn't respond but made a bemused face that implied she wished she had left him at Auntie Annes like he'd wanted (but didn't actually ask, since, well, you get the idea).

Tonight was Tuesday, which, and this is according to tradition, was date night, for Percy and Calypso. It had been three weeks of (absolute torture because Annabeth left and New York has been lifeless and mute in her wake) heavenly bliss with Calypso.

He's exaggerating because he can't remember the last time he stood on his feet for so long (concert's don't count!) and was commissioned as the Boyfriend with the honorable job of carrying an unending amount of bags. After the first store, he was feeling confident, he had a free hand to wrap around Calypso's shoulders and she'd look up beneath her eyelashes to smile so sweetly, it made his toes curl.

After the fifth store, the third pair of shoes, forth winter coat, and second hat box, Percy began to feel a little like a luggage cart, and Calypso (like any seasoned athlete) was only getting more and more into the game. Sales and bargains and last of the season put a fire under her. Percy just wished they'd take a quick five, drink some water and maybe eat a pretzel, like any mild mannered mall goer, but Calypso had "-a game plan, Percy! All the department stores first, then the smaller boutiques, by the time your done, it doesn't even feel like shopping. Trust me, this is how I've been doing it sense I was a little girl! Hurry up, please, and don't let my bags drag on the floor. I use those for Christmas presents!"

"Okay," Percy said, sounding like a kid denied a trip to the candy store, hauling the dragging bags into his arms, and watching the water fountain pass by like it was Mr. Guaradelli himself.

It wasn't that he wasn't having fun, of course he was! This morning he drove (drove, yes, in a car he bought at the insistence of someone who doesn't ride the subway because it's gross) to Calypso's, where she waited like a daisy in the grass as he pulled up, two iced coffees in hand and one muffin in her purse, which she tore chunks off of during the ride and fed them to Percy while he attempted to manage abiding all street laws. His favorite moments with Calypso were always when he saw her for the first time after, well, not seeing her.

The rapidity of his heart slowed at the sight of her, settling his confusion and anxiety into a doable task: being the Boyfriend. Something Percy believed completely he excelled in.

Besides, after the Battle of the Brooklyn Mall, they were going to see a movie, something Percy had been dying to see, and that's where they'd trade. Calypso got the mall, Percy got the movie. It's a win win!

Well, actually they both lose and win, which is bad on all accounts, but, caught up in the whirlwind of Calypso, Percy didn't seem to notice. And if he did, he pretended it didn't bother him. That it was normal.

But it couldn't be, not when he had the previous four months to show for it.

When he said goodbye to Annabeth, completely unwilling and in a moment of guttural shock, he mentioned it being the summer of their lives, which it really had been, at least for Percy. He hadn't known fun like that before. He really hadn't met anyone like her. Annabeth, the wry concert photographer, like melting sunshine with a smile brighter than wedges of light glinting off ocean waves. His best friend. Or she had been, before she went to Wales. Percy liked to imagine it was very, very cold there.

No, he didn't. He hoped, very much, that she was cozy and had nice hotel rooms, the music digestible, free meals, and hadn't met anyone willing to carry her monstrously heavy camera bag.

Mostly, he avoids thinking about Annabeth, because that's where his mind begins to blank. He sees her, like a shimmering image of summer, messy golden hair, crumpled sweatshirt, saying goodbye to him while a teenager sweeps the entrance to the coffee shop around them. He sees her and his mind just, empties. Somehow, wires were crossed (he'd probably have to see a technician), and the connection goes out when her face comes up. Then the pain sets in, the pressure of a mosh pit of emotions so loud and demanding, thumping against his heart. Usually, he has to sit down, count to ten and rub his eyes really hard until he can think straight.

"Have you heard from Anna?" Calypso said, pulling Percy from his thoughts into a tumultuous struggle for a response. No, he hadn't heard from Annabeth (Calypso seems to think her name is Anna Beth and doesn't bother putting them together, Percy's never corrected her; its been so long that he is terrified to).

This was the last store, the final haul. Percy could practically feel the shopping bags creasing permanent marks on his hands and arms. Home stretch. "Uh, no. I haven't. She's probably super busy."

Calypso paused from her search to nod understandingly to Percy, in a way that insinuates she definitely didn't understand. "Plus," she said, "the time difference."

Percy nodded, like yeah, of course, that must be it! And decides he'll choose the stupid horror movie to watch after this, not at all because his girlfriend inclined several times she wanted him to pick the rom com (which he's been wanting to see since the trailer came out, but who cares, it'll be on Netflix in, like, two weeks).

He tries, really hard!, to not think of Annabeth, but Calypso brought it up in the first place, and she's off in the changing room trying the same dress on in four different colors. Then Annabeth comes up to him, shimmering in his hazy memory, and suddenly he's staring point blank into the middle distance, unknowingly having a very tense staring contest with a mannequin he mirrors, frozen in Saks, covered in shopping bags.

Annabeth really hadn't spoken to him. Percy didn't even know if she made it to Wales in one piece. Then his brain begins picturing her on an airplane, wearing sweats and patterned socks and watching clouds pass in the window, she'd have headphones in, buried under her incredible mass of hair, maybe lean over and sleep on his shoulder through the flight. He wonders what kind of snacks she'd buy in the airport.

She's probably off in Wales right now, meeting some guy. Some stupid guy who offers to hold her bag, he probably wears glasses and has a dumb accent. Percy scoffs himself back into reality, realizing the tense interaction he seemed to be having with the mannequin in front of him, and noticed a gaggle of employees staring at him with lips curled.

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders a little, since all other action was weighed down by thousands of dollars worth of clothes. Percy turned away, for the first time feeling chastised in one of Calypso's expensive stores. Money wasn't much of an issue for her, since her father funded her various adventures and trips (shopping and otherwise), and honestly, Percy never gave the idea that he should probably feel uncomfortable by it any thought. Well, until now.

"Percy!" Calypso called, emerging from the changing room with dresses raised over her head, maneuvering expertly between racks of clothes. When she caught him, a little out of breath, she put the dresses on the closest rack and said, "Let's skip the movie, okay? It'll take too long getting all this back to my house, then I have to get ready, and I'm already starving. We'll just do dinner, okay?"

He didn't respond, just followed her out.

---

Three am and he got a phone call. Percy was sleeping soundly, and had been pulled from his watery dreams like a prize in a claw machine, groping blindly around his bed for his incessantly ringing phone.

Instinctively, he said, "People go to coffee shops in the morning, too, you know," because, well, who else would call but that clever photographer with another inane plan he would inevitably go along with?

Then Calypso said, "What? Can you pick me up? I'm at a party and the cops came. I need a ride." So he did.

Percy got out of bed at three in the morning, pulled shoes on, forgetting the socks, drove downtown (downtown!) to grab Calypso who proceeded to beg for ice cream and fall asleep as soon as the drive through worker said, "So, what can I get for you?" He bought her something anyway, took her home, tucked her in, put the ice cream in her freezer, and left. He realized in her lobby he probably should've like, kissed her head or something, but he didn't want to go all the way back up just for her to grumble at him and probably sweet talk him into buying her breakfast.

So Percy left, and instead of his warm bed waiting to encompass him, the grumpy face of the coffee shop owner waited his order.

His watch said four thirty, so he knew he wasn't mistaken in the idea that, it was really really early, and sure, some part of him did imagine the shop wouldn't actually be open yet, which Percy admitted begrudgingly, considering he had planned on sitting on a cold bench alone until the sun started to rise. So, when he arrived to find the windows open, customers spilling in and out, and a man in three piece suit passed out on the aforementioned bench, Percy decided it would be wise to try ordering something.

"Dude, please. Before the sun comes up," the spiky barista said, and even though Percy had been standing in front of her for three minutes now, it was the first thing she said to him. Her name badge read 'Thalia'.

"Just a coffee," Percy said, then added, "with cream and sugar."

Bangles jingling, the Craft-looking barista put in his order with an incredulous brow raised. "There's all that stuff over there. I'll leave you room on top."

"Thanks, Thalia," Percy said, just to be nice. Just because she seemed like she needed someone to be just a little nice to her.

Based off of Thalia's expression, Percy probably should've just spit in her eye if he wanted to be polite so bad. "How do you know my name?"

Fear struck Percy's heart. Well, today would more than likely be the day he died. Of course he'd still drink his coffee when Thalia finished making it, even though certainly, she'll fill it half way with rat poison. If he thought about it through a small lens, it had been a nice life. "You're name tag," Percy offered. "Nice sticker by the way, I love Whine With Me. They're my favorite band."

Thalia looked down to notice her own name tag, which did display her name as well as a small sticker brandishing the bands title, then her icy blue eyes jolted back up to Percy and narrowed suspiciously. Somehow, he knew she'd interrogate him before the words came. "You ever seen them live?"

Was there anyone else in the entire coffee shop? Was there anyone else in the entire world? "Uh, yeah. About a month or two ago."

"Did you go with anyone?"

Percy blinked. "Sorry?"

"Are you from Canada?"

He figured his apology gave him away, but truly, his knees shook with the reminder that he hadn't spoken to his mom since last week and he'd like at least one last chance to call her before he died. "Yeah," he squeaked, preparing for the knife or bullet or wrecking ball that would surely drop down on him any moment, done so by the flick of Thalia's pierced brow.

While he awaited his death, Percy tried to give Thalia the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she's a psychic?

"You're Percy," Thalia said, as if she had just decided it, and he was Percy, whether he liked it or not.

His demeanor crumbled, and for a moment, his fear split on his face, revealing its depth to Thalia who watched, bemused. "Yes?"

"Chill, I'm not gonna hurt you. Here's your coffee," she handed it to him and Percy stared at it, confused since he hadn't actually seen her make it. She rolled her eyes. "It's black coffee. I just poured it. Annabeth's my bestfriend so I know all about you."

"You do?" A blush fought it's way up Percy's throat, even as his nerves sat on the suitcase of his emotions, desperately trying to pack them in. Annabeth talked about him?

Thalia smirked at him incredulously. "So it wasn't her, huh?"

"What?" Percy said. "What wasn't her? Who? What?"

She shrugged. "Annabeth. She wasn't the girl? At any point?"

Percy figured he had missed something. "What? I don't know what you're talking about. We were friends, are friends, but she's gone. She left."

Thalia frowned, as if his answer wasn't what she had wanted to hear, something Percy was not ready to think too hard about. "Really? Are you sure?"

Now it was Percy's turn to frown. He was definitely missing something. "Yes?" He had no idea.

"Damn," Thalia's frown deepened, and she shook her head like she made a bad bet or something. "Pick a table, I'll sit with you."

"Um, okay."

Percy picked a table, confusion prickling every inch of him, so much that he switched seats, adjusted tirelessly, and even stood to move a chair in a strange, wriggling fashion, when Thalia came out from the back, staring at his actions strangely. He attempted to overcorrect and brandished the chair with a beckoning hand, pretending like he'd been holding it out for her, even when he'd been wrestling with it only a moment ago.

Thalia pulled out a chair across from him and sat, Percy following reluctantly. "So, you know Annabeth," Percy began, tearing a piece of his napkin off so he could fiddle with it in his hands.

Thalia watched him like she was observing water buffalo, considering letting them in on the fact that they were going extinct. Despite her knowing Annabeth, Percy wasn't entirely unsure he was out of the woods just yet, and figured worst case scenario, he can flip the table as some sort of shield, should Thalia decide to go ahead with murdering him. "So, Calypso, huh?"

Percy nodded. "Yes. Yeah, Calypso. She's my girlfriend. Do you know her, too?"

Thalia quirked a brow. "Thought I did."

"Sorry?"

"Listen," Thalia leveled, leaning towards him over the table. "Annabeth would kill me if I said anything to you. So I'm gonna be a good friend and keep my thoughts to myself, but I will tell you one thing."

Percy figured this was the part she'd start killing him. He wasn't far off.

"You seem like a good guy. You're nice, you tip well."

"Thank you."

"But you're a bumbling idiot. What are you doing here at four thirty in the morning? I know, but I don't think you do. Annabeth is my best friend, she's been my best friend since we were kids and my brother started this band," her black fingernail tapped the sticker on her name badge, and the connection hit Percy's head like a gong. "I love her. I care about her and her feelings more than my own. She's like a sister to me. Also a mother, and sometimes a daughter. Point is, I'd do anything for her."

Percy nodded. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. "That's great."

"Damn right it is. I don't appreciate foreigners with nice eyebrows toying with my friends feelings. If you want her to be in your life, you need to figure your own shit out."

"Are you forbidding me from being friends with Annabeth because I'm from Canada? You know I'm a U.S. citizen, right?"

Thalia narrowed her eyes at Percy and he was grateful he hadn't repeated her 'nice eyebrows' comment even though he really wanted to. "You didn't actually become her friend until concert three, right?"

Percy nodded, confused why his friendship was being overturned and dissected.

"You told her you met a girl at a concert, had a great night, and never exchanged information, that you fell in love with her and made it your mission to search any concert you could get into for this girl. You said that. To Annabeth."

"Yes."

Thalia shook her head and stood. "So nobody can blame me for assuming. This is all on you, man." Then she disappeared through the back door, leaving Percy with a steaming cup of hot coffee, and thoughts so jumbled and confused, they ran around, bumping into each other in a panic.

What did any of that have to do with Annabeth?

When he was a kid, Percy spent a lot of time in the snow. Once, his mom took him up into the country to stay in a cabin in the woods. He had been on the balcony overlooking a great expanse of what must've been forest, blanketed with blinding white snow, and even though his mom urged him inside by starting up her territory wide famous cookie recipe, he'd stayed out there, feeling like there was something he was supposed to see. Just before the oven timer went off, he saw it. Way out across white running hills, a movement; a shoulder and then, two eyes, like river rocks, finding him across the expanse. Despite the distance, Percy felt an eerie chill run over his body, shaken by the thought that in the same moment he saw the creature, the creature saw him. Though he had been searching, actually facing what had been a mythical creature, now a real and present threat, Percy wanted to give the information back.

He'd ran inside, thankful for the comfort of his mother and blue chocolate chip cookies, warm and gooey, that, as a child, was all the protection needed from an invisible snow cat.

Abruptly, Percy stood, the chair squeaking and teetering behind him, and walked out the door, coffee left behind.

A day later, he walked back to the coffee shop, didn't give it a second glance, and drove his car home, pretending not to see the parking ticket under the windshield wiper.

---

Two weeks later, Percy was beginning to feel like a bystander in his own life. But really, everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be?

"Where are you taking me?" Calypso giggled, hands blindly groping the air in front of her. Percy held a hand on her back, guiding her forward.

"Shh, you'll ruin the surprise." He pushed the door open and pressed his back against it to keep it from closing, guiding Calypso in by her wrist to the stairs. The moment her heel touched the first step, she turned to face him, which jolted Percy since she was still blindfolded.

"Are you taking me up stairs?" she asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Is there an elevator we can take?"

Percy frowned. "Well, sure, but-"

She stepped away from the stairs and took the blindfold off. "Lets just take the elevator, please?"

It was hard to resist her. Four weeks ago, it had been because her eyes sparkled like cute intelligence and roasted almonds. She was a nymph, guiding him through the lush forest by the scent of coffee beans and sparkly vanilla.

Now, he was a little scared of her. There were times he honestly felt a little like her assistant. Or a bell hop. Or a coat hanger. But that was just during the day, when she'd shop, or the one time he'd met her friends, who didn't actually talk to him after he'd been introduced. In a state of painful awkwardness Percy hadn't felt since he'd been in his high school cafeteria, he had sat next to Calypso, sipping lemonade as New Yorks Best Fifth Wheel.

Today was their one month anniversary and it was Percy's job to plan it, naturally.

He wasn't sure what in the world he was going to do. In the past, Percy's dating style had been movies, bad karaoke, spontaneous trips to the beach, underground concerts (or other activities he didn't do with Annabeth), etc. He figured those options, albeit fun and closer to his taste, would be simply unacceptable.

Calypso had proven to be quite the extravagant girl, something Percy wasn't used to catering for, in a way that left him bereft without options. Besides, her innocuous hints over the past week had implied as heavy as the Empire State Building that some fancy dinner, lavish view, and wholly romantic evening is the least he could do.

An hour into some brief research had Percy rocking back and forth, clutching his already mussed hair, a handful of cookies downloaded on his computer, contemplating the logistics of reality as he scrolled on a hot air balloon rental website when he scrapped everything, deciding the best thing to do was prioritize.

So, he improvised.

After another hour of searching online, Percy ordered dinner from the fanciest sounding place, a number of dishes and appetizers all in another language, then he texted her to wear something cute, picked her up, blindfolded the girl, and drove her back to his apartment, unknown to her.

"Percy!" Calypso cried as they entered the lobby from the stairs. "This is your apartment. What are we doing here?" If she hadn't ended her sentence there, it probably would've been followed by instead of a five star Italian restaurant where the waiters all wear napkins on their arms?!

Once again, tweed-clad miniature Percy, a crazed exhausted look in his eye like a detective in too deep, moments before he solved the murder of his wife (it was his brother), stood up from his stool which clattered to the floor, and robotically turned to slide the chalk against the board, which had enough marks to be a population count of the town Percy grew up in, rather than a log of his unshareable thoughts about his girlfriend.

Mini Percy stumbled for his stool, teetering on his week legs, before knocking out cold, hitting the ground floor of Percy's mind with a silencing thud.

Good, Percy can use some quiet and sense for a while.

"C'mon," Percy said, and smiling, replaced the blindfold over her eyes. Once secured, he kissed her pouting mouth and led her to into the elevator. "You trust me, don't you?" he murmured, quite sweetly, he thought, as they rose through the building.

"I guess we'll find out," she murmured sardonically, sending a resounding shock through Percy so vast, he rocked backward. Thankfully her eyes were covered or the look on Percy's face would've invited an entire conversation for those five words.

His building never typically ran music through the elevators, which Percy hadn't noticed until that particular lift, as Calypso's heel tapped the floor in gross anticipation.

Was it too late for the hot air balloon? He figured it was.

Percy held a breath as the doors opened, leading Calypso out with a hand on her back, then easing the blindfold from her eyes. She blinked a number of times, to adjust to the light, then, quite obviously, to take in his surprise without having to react just yet.

Candles hadn't been reasonable (his super was clear Percy'd have to pay for any fire damage), nor safe (could burn the building down), so he settled on fairy lights, a lot of them, and strung them across the roof, surrounding a picnic blanket laden with pillows, a champagne bucket, roses in a vase, and their dinner, adorably, in a picnic basket. The sun bled across the sky like melting popsicles, silhouetting the skyline with watery blues and oranges.

Despite the fact he had set it up, even Percy smiled, aware of how cute this was.

"Awe, Percy!" Calypso said, her voice elegant and manicured, so much so that Percy had to force himself not to think about the Implications, and hug and kiss the girl instead.

Regrettably, he had forgotten something. "Champagne glasses!" he snapped his fingers as he realized, once they had settled on the picnic blanket, a real endeavor for Calypso as she wore quite a short skirt and had an awkward time lowering herself to the floor, as Percy both lended his arm for support and vehemently looked in the other direction.

"Percy!" Calypso cried.

"Don't worry! I won't make you get up. Go ahead, look in the basket, I'll go downstairs and grab them." He kissed the side of her head, deciding that to go for her pouting mouth for a second time might create a habit, and raced downstairs.

When he returned, they opened the champagne, accidentally losing the cork over the side of the building, something Percy found hilarious, and Calypso felt changed her opinion of him completely. "I would never!"

"Next time, you can open the bottle," he had offered, trying to save the moment.

"And ruin my nails? Please."

So he poured her a glass and hoped she'd drink it quick.

(It goes unsaid that this jolted Mini Percy from his slumber, sending the poor guy into a tumultuous struggle to: one, find chalk, two, stand, three, find room for another mark, and four, send a searing look Percy's direction.)

Minutes later, they were knuckle deep in French dishes (Percy forgot utensils, too, so Calypso ended up ruining her nails anyway), listening to the quiet sounds of the city drifting from afternoon to evening and soft music from Percy's phone. Percy finished his food first while Calypso took her time, both to savor it and to eat it in the most complicated, delicate way to spare her manicure, sending pointed looks his way indicating that if he forgot a fork at the next dinner, he'd be the one feeding her.

They spoke light conversation, easing into melodies of true love, delving into topics that touch upon the purest spaces of the heart, like weather and next week's plans.

During a lull (one of many, thought he admits it as a murmur out the corner of his mouth, so as not to stir any pointed parts of his mind who like to keep track of this type of thing), Percy laid back on the blanket, watching the stars twinkle through the darkening sky, feeling an odd level of deja vu he spent four minutes trying to understand. (He knew exactly how long because Traitorous Mind by Whine With Me started playing on his phone speaker in the exact moment he felt it as Calypso began picking apart a piece of bread, and he mulled over the possible source until it hit him as the song slowed to a stop.)

At first, he realized it was because of how he was laying, on his back, full stomach, counting the stars, that he had been in the same position on a different night so many weeks ago, on the seventh flight of stairs in Annabeth's apartment building.

Instead of stars, they charted chewed gum and romantic graffiti.

Percy smiled, remembering that night. Annabeth had secured black market tickets online, which Percy (Canadian at heart) protested strongly to, even if his chest squeezed at the possibility of seeing his favorite band, Whine With Me.

Maybe that's why it felt so surreal. They'd played Traitorous Mind that night, and Percy rocked back and forth, not even sure his broken voice was singing the lyrics against the chorus of the audience, his arm around Annabeth, feeling more where he was meant to be than he ever had in his life.

Hm.

Suddenly Mini Percy had plenty of energy, and was pictured in Percy's mind scratching his head, grinning as a lightbulb appeared above, and ran to roll in another chalkboard, one that had been there all along, but hidden from view.

Percy shook his head out of that thought before Mini Percy could show him something irreversible.

Sure, he was looking at the stars, thinking about that night with Annabeth while sitting next to his girlfriend (who was not Annabeth), but it could be the champagne. Yes! They had been drinking champagne that night, brought a bottle with them after they left the venue.

He had been particularly fuzzy then, just as the bubbles form in his chest presently, so that must be it.

Percy smiled, huffing a breath out of his nose as he remembered stumbling down the street, debating nonsense with Annabeth.

Momentarily, stirred by the thought he was reminded of, Percy propped himself up on his elbow and asked, "Did you know I went to college on an interpretive dance scholarship?"

Calypso twisted her head at him as she chewed. "I don't think so," she said. "But that's so crazy, I got into college on a dance scholarship too! It was all I did in high school, but I don't know. When I got to college, I was sick of wearing tap shoes all the time, so ugly. And noisy. My dad had me switched to marketing."

Percy nodded. "Yeah, same," he said, and leaned back against the blanket as Calypso used her bread to scoop some mysterious soup to her mouth.

That familiar knot tightened around Percy's heart, thumping against his head in a way that made him feel like he was missing something obvious.

Annabeth had found his interpretive dance story much funnier, though he supposed he told it better that night.

Then they went to McDonalds, and Annabeth had gotten them chicken nuggets with the scraps of her bank account. Subconsciously, Percy smiled again, then quickly quirked his mouth to erase it, should Calypso question its origin.

Somehow, they'd made it to Annabeth's apartment to find the elevator out of service, something Annabeth had failed to remember until they were facing the maintenance sign and a very long walk up some particularly steep stairs.

He'd asked her to tell him something smart, something to make his brain work to distract his body which had been sobering up, and fast. Of course, there was some random fact on the top of her Random Smart Things pile that of course, Percy had never heard of before.

Then Percy had given up, as he really truly thought another step and his body would fall to pieces like characters in a Lego video game when they die, just limb, limb, torso, limb, limb, head. Thankfully, he didn't, mostly because there was no way Annabeth would carry all his parts and pieces up those stairs with her and he'd likely be an arm and a head for the rest of his life, but also because they ended up creating one of Percy's favorite memories, something he realized as he recollected it here.

They laid the cardboard carton on Annabeth's stomach and finally, finally ate the soggy chicken nuggets. Naturally, sauces had been forgotten and he could still taste the stale, damp unnatural chicken flavor in his mouth.

He almost laughed at the memory! They were so disgusting, despite the sweet moment, and Annabeth had sighed, (and this is where Traitorous Mind faded softy to a close) and said-

"This is the best meal I've ever had… in my entire life," Calypso said, interrupting his thought by, ironically, finishing it for him.

Percy sat up abruptly, like an insomniac coming out of a nightmare, startling Calypso. "What…?" she started, but before the questioning inflection could even lilt out of her mouth, Percy was standing, eyes scanning however unseeing, mind racing, tripping over itself, picking up again, and stumbling on for the same train.

"I gotta go," Percy heard himself say. Through his eyes, he saw Calypso looking at him, sitting delicately on the picnic blanket like a winter rose, like something he was never meant to have, and he said, "Sorry. Maybe get a butler," suggesting numbly, and without consequence, (mostly because of that small skirt Calypso had on, preventing her from standing without massive struggle, something that just didn't seem worth it in the moment to her) he exited through the roof door.

Then, he took the stairs.

---

Over a month in and Annabeth can honestly say that her trip, at least thus far- who knows, her next hotel might have hot water- has not been, let's say, ideal.

Wales proved cold, icy even, and not just the weather. All her warmth she had forsaken before boarding the plane.

Her first hotel didn't have heating, since the summer season just ended, as they informed her at check in, "it'll take some time for the maintenance crew to get it back on after an idle year," however they offered a number of extra blankets, which she would have to fold and return herself at checkout, when they informed her the heating was just now fixed and would have the building warmer than a brick oven by the time the charter plane dropped her off in the next country.

Suffice it to say, it was a cold, cold month, buried under a foundation of blankets, stiff fingers tracing her laptop pad, watching icicles form on the edges of her hotel room, the ends of her hair and the corners of the screen, which might be an over exaggeration to some, but is an accurate recounting based on the level of sanity Annabeth had left after shuddering for two hours while flicking through her photos.

The band itself isn't bad, thank god for that. Their style is spunky, inclusive, and juvenile, though only in the way that they'd have the audience "jump!" during nearly every song and the guitarist kept himself rightly entertained with kicks and jumps and the occasional flip. Annabeth caught a number of pictures the band begged, bribed, and threatened bodily harm for the purpose of posting online.

The lead singer, a tall, thin, dark haired boy of twenty (a description that could pass for the rest of the band, aside from the drummer, who is a tall, thin, dark haired girl), dropped to his knees before their set a week before, clasping his hands, and said, "Please, Macaroni! These will sell out the next show! You want our shows to sell out, right? Please? I'll do anything! I'll take you out for a cheeseburger. Americans like cheeseburgers, yes?"

The dutch band had scarcely met American's before, found her New York history fascinating, and enjoyed singing the infamous yankee doodle song at first to tease Annabeth, but after a while the song had been deemed a musical hit and became a regular tune heard during plane rides and sound checks.

Her brilliant nickname was a mix of their limited American knowledge and Annabeth's (allegedly) macaroni yellow hair. It didn't make her wish to appeal to them any more than if they'd call her 'lady'. Either way she assumes it's because they forgot her name.

Annabeth just shook her head. "Sorry, bud. These pictures belong to my boss. He'll give you the edited versions after the tour, I promise."

Hugh, lead singer in question, stood, rubbed dust from his dark jeans, and grumbled off after sending a striking look Annabeth's way, mumbling about 'sell outs's and 'dandies' and 'girls' and something in his own language, dark enough for her to assume it was better she hadn't learned welsh before her big trip.

It wasn't that she preferred to abide by Mr D's insane and counterproductive rules, like keeping her photos under lock and key until the tour is said and done, but that a point was made quiet exceedingly clear that if she broke her bosses rules, she'd have to find her own flight home. Given the unfortunate fact that Bleeding Stump (rough translation of the welsh band's name) doesn't rival titles such as Whine With Me, for humble example, Annabeth's hotels have thus been down back roads, through despicable appearing woods, with a dwindling level of cleanliness and friendliness of staff to the point where Annabeth isn't sure if she had actually woken up to a rat in her bed or if she just dreamed it, and researched local serial killers to compare against the front desk receptionists eerie countenance.

If this was the best Mr. D could do, Annabeth was certain if left abandoned, she'd end up using the inevitable winter snow as a bed and resign to a week left of life before her supplies run empty.

So she really can't share any of her pictures, even if Daria, the drummer, flirts, coerces, and healthily bribes Annabeth to do so.

"I can do things Americans have never dreamed of," Daria says before tonights sound check, leaving Annabeth unsure if she meant money wise, or otherwise.

"American's know everything, they just have different names for it," Annabeth responds, making Daria huff and swat her with her drum sticks.

From the back of the bar, the dimly lit venue for the night, a chorus of ear piercing cheers takes Annabeth by the shoulders and shakes the living hell out of her. She turns to send an icy glare which the group (a stellar example of human nature; over a dozen proud college drop outs and die hard fans of Bleeding Stump) have come quite familiar with over the past month and then some, since they've made it their personal mission to give Annabeth a searing headache each night before the show even starts.

"Groupees," she mutters bitterly to herself, with only brief respite, since the group cheers again as Daria takes her place at the drums and likewise the rest of the band filters out to begin soundcheck, something you'd think is as exciting as the show itself considering how much cheering goes on.

Since the band is quite underground and can hardly afford new chords for their amp because Lane, the guitarist, jumps and trips and twists them with his excessive dance moves during the latter half of the show, Annabeth doubles as a light tech, which is a fancy way of saying, she turns on their stage lights.

The groupees cry out in surprise and momentary pain when Annabeth turns the flood light switch on, (completely on purpose and with a self-satisfied smile) accidentally aimed to the very center of their eyes. "Oops!" she says, and turns the light around to face the stage.

"Annnabeth!" Jordan, one of the aforementioned groupees, who pronounces her name as if it were Anne Nabeth, which seems to be a popular name on this side of the Atlantic, wraps a heavy arm over her shoulders as she tenses like a pouncing cat. "Have you given my offer much thought?"

Why is it that everyone and their mother in this country wants a piece of Annabeth, but the one person she wants doesn't? There's gotta be something in the air.

She takes a brave deep breath to avoid immediately answering, steering away towards back stage- slipping out from under his arm-where she hopes he has the sense to stay behind, but as it is, hopes are crushed, and he follows like a puppy. "Less than that, Jordan," she snipes truthfully.

"Come on! You, me, the country, and some rum. We'll go whale watching! Its romance!" Jordan, like everyone else, finds begging, pleading, and bribes the only way to break through the thick ice covering Annabeth's willpower. She won't budge, not for her pictures, nor her heart. Almost as if her life depends on it.

"Answers no, Jordan, go bug the bartender, please. I have to set up." Annabeth, in her search backstage for any possible task, finds a light, her new expertise, and tilts it on its side, rolling it back out towards the stage.

"You have a boyfriend?" Jordan asks, tripping over a cord and hardly saving himself from a twisted ankle as he rushes to keep up with Annabeth's impressive speed, one of the benefits of living in New York half the time. "From America?"

At his question, Annabeth, while physically undisturbed- blankly setting up the light, ignoring Jordan- feels a hot flash like a needlepoint against her heart, the familiar feeling of being a pincushion stirred by a glimmering image hitting her vision like an oncoming bus, and leaving her just as fast.

It's always like that when she's reminded of Percy.

Ugh, now she's gone and said his name! What a betrayal to her antiquated promise to leave him and all thoughts of him back in New York!

Well, now, she's thinking about him, god forbid, and visions of softly curling raven hair, lush lips brimming in a cheeky smile, his eternal warmth radiating from beneath a blue sweatshirt, scuffed shoes with holes revealing charmingly unseasonal socks, a delicious smell like stepping out the car after a long road trip to the beach, stretching aching muscles and inhaling the damp, salty, fresh-

No!

No.

No thoughts of Percy.

Percy, her friend. Percy, a boyfriend to another girl. Percy, who's happier without her (as she's come to convince herself by evidence of her undisturbed phone).

"Percy!" Annabeth snaps. "I mean, Jordan!" she corrects twice as fast and triple as frustrated.

Jordan straightens as if Annabeth is his military commander, at attention. "Yes?"

For a brief moment, Annabeth considers the consequences of screaming. Not that she has any particular angry words picked out, but that a festering explosion is scratching at her throat, desperate for release, and just a small, horror movie scream would set her straight, rightly so, before noticing Jordans trembling brow.

Not even she could perpetuate the evil New Yorker stereotype. No, instead she'll pick something more nuanced, modern, and subtle. After all, she was born in Virginia.

"Can you get me some lemonade?" she asks sweetly, using what feminine wiles she must unknowingly have. "I'm parched, thank you, Jordan."

"Uh, yes. Sure." Jordan teeters awkwardly in place, clearly confused by her change of expression, though not totally disliking it. "You look really nice today, Annnabeth. Do you want any ice?"

She shakes her head, letting hair fall before her face to hide the immediate smile. Well, that's one way to get rid of 'em.

Without another's presence, Annabeth's shoulders drop, and she gives up on pretending like she's setting up a light she's pretty sure she moved from where it was supposed to be, a bit of irony there she won't give the least attention to.

Nothing about this is easy, and unfortunately, she might be getting too old for it to be fun either.

Twenty-two and considering retirement. Thankfully Mr. D isn't omnipresent, or he would've promptly combusted in an explosion of crushed dreams and red wine.

Frustrated and burnt out, Annabeth's body turns on auto pilot and she slips silently through the backstage curtain, weaving between more curtains, chords, amps, string instruments (and brass and percussion, this band really has it all), until heavens gates reveal themselves to her in form of a black door labeled "EXIT".

Unfortunately, she forgot about the whole 'on another continent, in another climate' thing and is met quite instantly with the autumn chill.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Annabeth leans against the railing in the back alley, thankful at least she doesn't have to listen to incessant cheering, microphone feedback, and the same beginning guitar riff three thousand times because Lane wants to time it just right with a jump from the wings even though everyone's told him at every show, in every venue, that he'll have to practice it three thousand more times before it's ever close enough to being show worthy and-

She swats the thought away like a fly.

God, something about this feels so nostalgic, she thinks, remembering similar sound checks with Jason, Piper, and Leo, all with similar raucous ideas that never seemed to work out properly. But back then, she was a kid too, still learning the different settings on her camera.

Something about touring with this particular band makes her feel quite old, despite only being two years above most of the bandmates. Still. Its revealing.

She wonders how it would've been if she'd stayed with her friends' band. A memory she seldom allows herself to remember knocks on the door of her mind, and despite the mess, she lets it in.

After high school, Jason had sat her down in a local coffee shop, just the two of them, and offered her to be the bands official photographer. Annabeth had declined, thinking she'd be a slave to photoshoots with tight pants, leather jackets, perched brows, edgy expressions, fighting elbow to elbow with professional photographers whose picture would be picked over hers anyway.

It's only in this moment she considers what it would have been like if she said yes.

Realistically, the band would be busy writing and touring to do many photo shoots, and adult Annabeth knows they would hire a photographer whose expertise is capturing people posed in a way no human has naturally ever held themselves in starchy clothes on a pure white backdrop, leaving her to the messy stuff. The fun stuff. She'd tour with them, late nights like the ones they had in high school, hotel room shenanigans, and concerts like she'd never dream of photographing.

She would've been to Coachella last year! To photograph it! (Even better than watching!)

But!, her heart sings, tapping Annabeth on her shoulder in a most annoying way, repeating the melody she's so used to hearing, you never would have met Percy!

Yes, Annabeth thinks, a strange moment where her head agrees with her heart, I never would have met Percy.

So all the what ifs fade away to background noise and Annabeth is left alone with the cold wind and quiet sky.

I wonder what he's doing, her heart ponders.

Shut up, her head reasons.

Somehow, there is safety on another continent. Annabeth doesn't have to worry about running into Percy, which is something to worry about since she isn't sure she'd be able to pretend like her heart doesn't do back hand springs just at the thought of him. Pretending to be his friend would be impossible.

Despite the distance she put between herself and the stage, warbling vocals of a popular American song reaches through the sealed exit door, reminding Annabeth of her job (oh, right).

Since she made it all the way outside, she gives a huff, then a puff, sighing like a dog in his sleep, contemplating how long she would survive in the forests of Europe if she made a run for it right now (signs point to not very long).

In her pocket, her phone buzzes. Its a text from Mr. D.

Beth. there is no time. Emai lfiles to pirivate email then delete everytrhin. G quick. Was ok knwng u

M r g

Yeah, Annabeth thinks, sounds about right. This must somehow loosely translate to get close ups! or lower your shutter speed! but either way, it's been a long time since Annabeth gave his photography notes any attention, considering, well, everything about the man.

Come to think of it, this is the first she's heard from him since she was given the details for this job. As soon as she gets back to New York, she is discussing options with that man. No way she's staying slave to his inane demands.

When the warbling chorus of yankee doodle takes another go, Annabeth checks the time. Welsh idiots, she thinks. They're going to sing themselves raw five minutes before the show goes on.

Best she gets back inside now, before her fingers break off from the dry cold. Its a good thing they've got Annabeth here to remind them they're not kids anymore, pretending to live out their dream, and that there is a queue of people waiting to get-

No. The door. The door she exited through, the door she was going to enter back in through.

Locked.

"Couldn't be surprised if I wanted to," Annabeth mutters to herself, shaking a disapproving head at the locked door handle, before heading around the building, to, well, to get in line.

---

"Five dollars," the (very annoying and soon-to-be dead) charming and handsome bouncer repeats for a seventh time, his accent sharp and thick like a knife thudding against a cutting board.

"Frank," Annabeth pleads. "I got here three hours ago with the band. My camera bag is behind the host stand. You know me. You saw me earlier. Please, just let me in."

The line of people start grumbling again, to which Annabeth's eyes roll in a full, heavy lidded rotation. A mumbling chorus of complaints ripple across the crowd and Annabeth is, again, thankful she can't understand them. The show goes on in a few minutes and the damn bouncer is acting like he doesn't recognize her! She isn't going to pay the price of one of her photos just to get in the bar!

Ignore her admitting Mr. D buys her photos for cheap.

She knows she needs a new gig.

"Five dollars."

"I know you can understand what I'm saying. I know you know I was here earlier."

"Five dollars," he repeats, and just before Annabeth can press all her weight onto his toes and whisper a threat that will carry with him till his grave, Frank continues, in a lower, inconspicuous voice, "Or, let me buy you drink later. After my shift." Despite his demeanor, which resembles a brick wall, however he manages it, Frank winks cheekily.

Annabeth is still considering the threat when her instincts bustle in, brave and demanding, tidying things up, tossing honesty and sense out newly lace curtained windows, then turning to Frank with a charming smile and saying, "Buy me all the drinks you want."

Frank lets Annabeth right in.

Twenty extra bodies, on top of fifteen groupees, flood the small bar, making a wolf den out of the dim room. A smiley host is posted behind a wooden counter by the entrance, and Annabeth side steps her to grab her bag. "Oh," the host starts, chastised by Annabeth's forwardness, which is actually politely laced impatience and frustration.

Annabeth hefts the bag over her shoulder and bee lines through the crowd for the corner booth reserved for her. A red bubbly drink in a tall thin glass perspires on a cocktail napkin, sitting all by its lonesome save for the 'reserved' sign. Likely one of her many admirers thought to sweeten her up (or liquor her up) before the show, something Annabeth scoffs at, pushes to the edge of the table, and vehemently ignores as she removes her camera from the bag, pointedly shuffling through her settings.

"Psst, Macaroni!" At the harsh whisper, Annabeth's head jolts up, eyes scanning for the source. Of course, of all the delinquents in the bar, the band has to be the biggest. Daria's head pokes out behind the curtain, floating ominously, eyes staring pointedly at Annabeth. Annabeth gestures for the girl to go on. "Who's the American?"

"What?" Annabeth whispers back. Her booth is against the back left wall, adjacent to stage right, and immediately beside the curtain. Nobody but Annabeth notices Daria, though any ear piercing screams would give it away. "What?" Annabeth repeats, in her regular voice, since Daria is an arms length away.

"The American," she says again, as if that should be explanation enough. "Frank said there's another American here. Your friend?"

How could Frank have gotten that information back so quickly? He could stand there for seven minutes demanding five dollars from Annabeth, the paid photographer, but the moment there's gossip, he'll leave his post to blab? Whatever, she reminds herself, she's not his boss.

"There's like four hundred million people in America, Daria. I don't know all of them."

"But-"

"Go!" Annabeth says as the lights dim for the start of the show. Reluctantly, and with a narrowed stare, Daria melts into the curtain.

Ten minutes later, Annabeth's in the thick of it, even bitterly, reminded of why she loves her job so damn much. The crowd, however loud and presumptuous, thrums with an eclectic, magnetizing energy. She has to bat off several annoying teenagers who seem to think she takes pictures for anybody, waiting until the last second to shove their grinning faces in front of her camera, ruining what would be excellent photos. Doesn't matter, she leaves them with a few choice words she's sure they don't understand, and finds a better spot in the crowd, ending up with a wickedly charming photo of Daria smashing the drums, hair flying, an utterly focused and determined expression on her face. She'll have to hide this one from Daria or the girl might actually harm Annabeth for it (Daria's been looking for a new passport photo).

Once the final few chords of that song strum to a close, Annabeth heads in the direction of her booth, swiping through her last few photos, deleting the impossibly blurry ones (even though she swears her hands were still!), determined to eat a handful of pretzels and drink a glass of water during the following ten minute intermission.

"This next one," Hugh says into the microphone, a slightly breathless smile on his face, "is for the Americans in the audience." Annabeth looks up at them with a frown. How many times did she tell them yankee doodle is not 'totally rocker' and will not 'enlighten the crowd to a new genre of music' since that song was written hundreds of years ago?!

"I'm not photographing this," Annabeth mumbles to herself, her eyes scrolling over her pictures, feet guiding her through the crowd.

Then the first notes of Piano Man by Billy Joel strum off Lane's guitar, and in his cheeky accent with an even cheekier smile, Hugh begins to sing, the smug bastard.

Professional musicians, Annabeth grumbles inwardly. More like professional pains in her side.

Well, two can play at that game.
This time, Annabeth leaves through the front and juts a rock between the door and the frame since Frank is no where to be seen and she's pretty sure the only other entrance is through the window in the bathroom. She is so not getting locked out again.

It's a lot quieter outside, even without closing the door all the way, and Annabeth closes her eyes, leaning back against the bar's brick wall, soaking in the peace and quiet. Despite the even colder temperatures from earlier, Annabeth's blood runs warm from adrenaline and the collective heat of so many bodies in such a small space.

In her hands, she holds her camera, her fingers still ghosting the buttons. Some of the photos from the night are unusable, thanks to those obnoxious, photobombing teenagers (seriously, are they even allowed in?) but some of them are beautiful, a swaying, cheering audience, streaks of red, blue, and green lights, an energy that could be felt through the small screen, even before any editing, which she makes mental notes for as she goes.

She stops, her thumb hovering over the arrow that would take her to the next photo. Her camera caught a few people in the audience, only the back of someones head, an ear, a shoulder, but (and don't judge her for this thought) does the ear look a little familiar? Subconsciously, her head tilts to the side and she zooms in, trying to examine what feels recognizable.

Weird, she thinks, shaking her head, moving to the next picture. Inside, Hugh rounds up another chorus of Piano Man, the audience singing almost louder than he is, when the bar door swings open, then slams shut.

"No, no, no!" Annabeth mutters, running to the door, seeing the scattered rock, and the door that looks very, very locked. She tugs. It doesn't open. "Damnit!" she yells.

Well, great. Now, she'll be forced to linger awkwardly outside the bathroom window, waiting for it to be vacant, somehow pry it open, and get herself inside.

Her aching willpower shrugs, thinking, can't we just wait the rest of the show out out here? She did already get a number of great photos, alongside the month of shows she's already photographed and the two more months of photos she will eventually get.

A fiercely proud part of her is still contemplating how to hoist herself into a window five feet off the ground, when something grabs her attention.

"I think there's another door out back," a voice behind her says. The culprit, the rock scatterer, the reason she's locked out in the first place (nevermind her idea to leave the bar).

Her heart skips a beat, and her anger turns her on her toes, ferocity building in her chest, and then-

Then dying just as quick, replaced with another kind of heat, a simmer, bubbling the blood in her heart like soapy bubbles, popping and fizzing. Her voice dies right there in her throat.

Percy, her heart sighs happily. Her Percy, looking soft and unfairly good just as he had the last time she saw him. Annabeth's eyes blink of their own accord, attempting to see for themselves if he's real or not.

But he definitely is. After a heartbeat, a breeze stirs through them, rustling against Annabeth's cheek and caressing softly through Percy's hair. The cold tinges his cheeks and nose pink. He's smiling at her, quite nervously, with an increasing level of hesitation, but he's still here, so he must be real.

At least so far, Annabeth hasn't hallucinated his presence, though this could be a tipping point for her.

"It's locked too," she hears herself say.

"Bummer," Percy says, nodding, his smile growing.

In her chest, the aching romantic in her pounds against her rib cage, screaming kiss him, hug him, profess your love, he's here!

"What are you doing here?" she asks, mentally sliding a large lock over her heart, at least for the moment. In her mind, she runs forward and he catches her with a laugh and everything is alright. In her mind, she runs forward and he stumbles back, confused, then Calypso helicopters in, landing in Percy's arms bridal style, announcing their marriage.

In real life, Percy shrugs, that smile against his mouth whether he wants it there or not, fluttering Annabeth's stomach like Daria's playing drums on her organs. "'Was in the area."

"Right."

"Actually happened to be walking by when I heard Piano Man," he says, the corner of his mouth teasing into a smirk, and for a completely unrelated and explainable reason Annabeth's knees loosen and shake. "Plus," he adds, his eyes finding his shoes, then jolting back up to hers with an intensity she hadn't expected, and the combination of his look and his smile nearly has her grasping the wall for balance, "I went to this concert a long time ago, and I met a girl there. Been looking for her, and I thought she might be here."

"Interesting," Annabeth says quietly, her mind frantically searching every corner for an easy explanation, the perfect response, How to Stand 101, How to Breath 102, while simultaneously attempting to keep her heart beating (and not at an alarming pace, but at a totally reasonable, reading a book kind of pace). "An unagreeable way to spend your money."

"Really?" he says, stepping forward, and air catches in Annabeth's throat, pausing there in anticipation. It isn't until now that she lets herself remember just how easy it is for her to crumble under the influence of his glittering eyes, sharp jaw, and overly soft demeanor. Translation: he looks too good. "I think it's totally agreeable. For this girl, anyway." He eases the bag off Annabeth's shoulder and slides it on his own. "So, you photographing this show, or what?"

"It's intermission."

Percy winks, "Even better," and grabs her hand, leading her around the side of the building. Dried leaves and frozen ice crunch under their shoes as they go. Annabeth's good sense tries to find an explanation, but turns to her with a shrug, then shuts out the light, leaving Annabeth lost, unanchored aside from Percy's hand, warm and holding hers tightly. If she concentrates, he might be running his thumb over her knuckles, but (as her reasonable doubt, who is still awake in her mind, says) it could just be the momentum of them both walking at different paces as he drags her along.

Without warning, Annabeth's feet plant in the dirt, tugging Percy back. He looks at her confused, but doesn't undo their loosely held hands. A question hesitates on the tip of her tongue, but she isn't sure which will come out. Why are you really here? Where's Calypso? What's going to happen now? But none of them seem important enough. None of them will get her what she wants.

Instead, she hugs him.

Percy freezes in surprise, then leans in easily to her, despite Annabeth's arms caging his. He settles on placing his head on top of hers. "Thank you for coming," she says, her voice low and vulnerable. "I missed… going to concerts with you."

Her head presses warmly against his chest. She doesn't want to admit how much she yields towards his heart beating against her cheek. She feels Percy chuckle softly. "I missed going to concerts with you, too, Annabeth."

Suddenly she pulls back at arms length, and gives him an accusing narrowed eye. "Did you tell them to play Piano Man?"

Percy laughs. "Obviously."

"Oh, great," Annabeth says. "They're gonna be on about that at me for the rest of tour! I'll never hear the end of it, seriously." Annabeth wants to say she holds her ground and is firm and implacable, and she is, however the grin on her face is not.

"I'm actually doing you a favor," he says, his smile implacable, the expert.

"How's that?" Annabeth says instead of kissing said transfixing smile.

His eyes sparkle in a way that makes Annabeth think he knows exactly what she's thinking. She tries to give herself the benefit of the doubt. "You'll never be able to forget me."

I wouldn't be able to either way.

"What?" she jokes, "you mean, you aren't staying for the rest of tour?"

Percy's eyes trail off in the distance and he shrugs, until his eyes strike hers with challenging amusement. "I never said that."

Annabeth frowns. "Percy-"

Instead of letting her finish, Percy returns to dragging her around the building, saying, "We're gonna miss the show!"

"All we're missing is intermission."

Despite it all, he stalks ahead, carefully leading Annabeth over the uneven ground along the side of the building. The idea of analyzing his sudden appearance and all he's said almost causes Annabeth to lose her footing, so she focuses on where to step and tightens her hold on Percy, and she thinks he does too.

Despite him "just passing by", Percy finds the bathroom window quite quickly, slides it open, and holds his hands together to help Annabeth step up. She manages to slide in easily, then takes her camera bag from Percy. He miraculously stumbles in himself, tripping a few times because of his momentum, causing Annabeth to take a few steps until her back is pressed against the wall. Percy catches his balance and drags his fingers through his mussed up hair, messing it up even more. He holds out his hand for her bag. She gives it to him. It's all she can do.

When he opens the door for her like a gentleman (which Annabeth rolls her eyes to), Daria stands on the other side, hand raised to knock. Immediately her expression rises to a satisfied, smug smirk. "You do know the American!"

Annabeth looks to Percy, who shrugs, the corners of his mouth trying not to smile. Her eyes roll again. "Bathrooms' all yours, Daria."

Daria, with the same expression as Percy, thinking she knows something she definitely doesn't, just nods knowingly (even though she knows nothing!) and passes them into the bathroom. "Should I wipe it down or-"

Her uncouth question is shut off by Annabeth slamming the door in her face, feeling satisfied even when Daria's laughter cuts through. Percy wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Wanna get something to drink?"

"Desperately."

---

Annabeth orders a cocktail, sipping it quaintly. Next to her, Percy nurses a lemonade, which she's pretty sure he hasn't taken a sip of yet, his leg anxiously jumping up and down on the barstool. Unfortunately, they have a time limit of how long the bar will be settled enough for conversation. Whatever either of them are going to say, it will have to be within the next six minutes.

"How's the gig going?" Percy asks, the question jolting out of him like a dart hitting bullseye.

Annabeth had just been on the verge of saying 'so what are you really doing here?' after minutes of psyching herself up, and finds herself grasping for anything in her mind that could answer his question besides "cold".

She goes with, "It's been alright. I can't remember the last time I had a gig like this, so it's taking a little adjusting," between the lines, this translates to it's been awful, I forgot why this job was fun in the first place, I'm so lonely, I miss you here, I miss concerts with you-

"Guess that's what happens when your boss gets convicted of murder. Less jobs." Percy finally takes an easy sip from his glass, which eases some tension out of Annabeth. What does he have to be nervous for? Calypso's probably got him on a curfew.

Annabeth's better judgment scoffs at this, sitting on a plush winged chair with a book in her lap, as if waiting for the rest of her to catch up.

"He's in the jury," she reminds him, laughing, again for the hundredth time. "If he did kill someone, I doubt I'd get any jobs."

"Yeah, that would be the real tragedy."

Annabeth shrugs, a teasing smile on her lips. "It would be." Percy laughs.

"The band treating you well?"

At the reminder, Annabeth rolls her eyes. "Please," she jokes darkly. "It's either dinner invitations, yankee doodle, or threats for my pictures."

While she speaks, Percy sips on his drink, his brows flipping through a myriad of emotions throughout. He gulps with a frown and returns the glass to the bar top. "You're pretty popular out here. Dinner invitations?"

Annabeth keeps a straight face, or rather her already blushing smile doesn't deepen, which is a miraculous feat considering her heart is grinning ear to ear, jumping and leaping over furniture in glee. "Attempts, more like. I've left a steady trail of rejection in my wake. Apparently a hot date over here consists of rum and whale watching."

"Sounds cold."

"Hence the rum, I'm assuming."

Percy chuckles. "You been taking good pictures?"

Annabeth narrows her eyes at him teasingly. "You know me. Of course I am."

He leans over to knock their shoulders together. "I never doubted you, just had to make sure you weren't making any impulsive career changes."

Despite her light mood, her body still remembers the ache of loneliness and mute desperation over the past month, a heavy sigh escapes her lips. "Not yet anyway."

"You don't sound like you're having fun," Percy says, that smile still playing on the edge of his mouth. Warm yellow light glitters in his eyes, a soft look of concern peaking through. Somehow, he could always read her like a book.

Annabeth braces herself for her own answer. "It's not that," she hears herself say. "It's just a constant tension between me and the band. They're always hounding me about not giving them the photos from the past few shows."

"Why would they be hassling you for your pictures? Aren't they paying you?"

Annabeth nods. "Kind of. I think their money goes to my boss, and my boss pays me for the pictures. Either way, I'm not allowed to release them or let anyone have them until after the tour."

Percy frowns. "That's weird. Do you know why?"

"Beats me," Annabeth says. "I'm pretty sure my boss is just a selfish, pretentious… yankee. I think he tries to sell them to rich bidders before letting the band have them. I'm not sure if its legal, actually."

"Why do you work for him again?"

Annabeth considers this. Mr. D has been her boss since she left her parents house and moved to New York. He'd seen her pictures, declared her uniquely talented, and she's been working for him ever since. Honestly, she'd never considered working for anyone else, aside from Jason, Piper, and Leo.

Somewhere inside her, a light turns on, says "That would be quite nice, actually," then goes dark again.

"I don't think I'd have work anywhere else if I quit."

Percy makes a disbelieving face at this. "Seriously? You're pictures are amazing, Annabeth. Anybody'd be lucky to pay you for them," he says, smiling.

You're pictures are amazing, Annabeth. The words echo quietly in her head, enough to heat her face to an uncomfortable degree. She tries not to smile when she speaks, but it breaks through anyway. "Thank you. I-"

Interrupting a sentence Annabeth wasn't sure how she'd end, the bartender raises the volume on a small box tv hooked to the ceiling in the corner. Someone loudly shushes the crowd and everyone's attention turns to an American breaking news announcement.

"-at six o'clock tonight, the culprit for the Harthwright murder investigation that has taken the attention of folks all across the country, has finally been caught. Now, this is something our country, I would even say, the world has yet to witness, am I right about that Jane?"

"Right you are, John. After the murder of CEO Edward Harthwright took place in his own home not three months ago, there has been a brutal ongoing trial in an attempt to catch the person responsible. Shockingly, new evidence points to a member of the jury being our culprit."

"That's right, Jane. As we speak, authorities are invading the home of a renound millionaire, who goes by the name Mr. D, hoping to acquiesce the killer. Insider info tells us his money, and his business, are all a sham."

"Are you sure about that, John?"

"Without a doubt, Jane. Now, I'm looking at some interesting facts here. Looks like this Mr. D has made his fortune off illegally bidding commissioned artwork while paying the artists next to nothing. His collection currently includes custom made sweaters, marble busts, trash sculptures, acrylic paintings, and even more specific, photographs of concerts. Now these pieces have been on the market before, going for close to a million dollars- some even more than that, while his logs have him paying the artist up to twenty dollars- yes, folks, you heard that right- twenty dollars for these pieces. Now that is some swindling."

"Absolutely, John. Not only murder, but unethical as well. Just shameful, isn't it John?"

"Downright, Jane. Behind us, we are featuring live footage of the police at the moment, take a look, ladies and gentleman. This is not a face you'll want to forget."

The camera cuts from the newsroom to shaky footage of police officers in bomb suits and helmets, escorting a rumpled Mr. D out of his luxury penthouse, looking quite inconvenienced and undoubtedly guilty, hands held behind his back and all. The camera follows, MTV style, as the officers escort Mr. D down the hall, in the elevator, through the lobby, past the visitors center, down the marble stairs, through the gardens, another elevator, down a street, and finally they shove his head into a police car. The station cuts out after that.

The crowd disperses in a slow roll, mumbling about stupid tvs only connecting to certain channels, and a lot of other similar complaints in a number of languages.

Next to Annabeth, frozen and unfeeling, Percy nudges her arm with an excited smile. "Did you hear that?"

Annabeth shakes her head. "I'm out of a job."

He wags his eye brows excitedly. "Millions of dollars, Annabeth. He sold your photos for millions of dollars."

Annabeth scoffs. "That's what you were paying attention to?!"

He shrugs. "Well, we already knew he was on trial for murder. That's old news. You're gonna be rich, Annabeth."

"Yeah, if I make it out of Wales alive." She can already picture freezing to death in the snow, or getting desperate enough to hope the wolves will take her in.

"Come on, you hated that guy. He could've killed you, literally. This is the best thing that could happen, Annabeth. Except for you realizing you deserve a boss who treats you better." Percy wraps his arm around Annabeth and squeezes her shoulder. Annabeth sort of (definitely a lot) wishes he'd stay there, or wrap both arms around her, pick her up, swing her around, kiss her all over-

"Plus, I'm here now. I won't let you die in the cold, Annabeth."

The low rumble of his voice alights a rolling boil in her chest, warming her to the bone.

"Is that why you came?" Annabeth asks. The pounding against her heart is much greater now, the lock will surely crack and dissolve soon enough, and she has no idea what will happen after that. Because of the massive elephant in the room, a churning vibration simmers under her, alighting her nerves with anxious tension, enough for the dreaded questions to come through.

Where is Calypso? Why is he here?

Without moving his arm, Percy faces her, close enough that she has to look up under her eyelashes to see him, and when she does…

His expression is soft, as it usually is with her, his eyes holding hers in them like they're the entire world and he couldn't look away to save a life. He is too capturing, too consuming. He has life itself in his impossibly green eyes. Greedily, she takes him in, the close smell of laundry on his jacket, the perfect curve of his smiling lips, his soft skin, freshly shaved, all contoured in the dim bar light. She wants to hold all of him in her hands, she wants to cherish the very idea of him.
She wants him to know.

Percy opens his mouth to speak and is promptly cut off by Lane strumming his guitar, the lights dimming, signifying the beginning of act two.

Annabeth wonders if Percy will still tell her his thought after she rips the lights' chords from the wall, smashes Lane's guitar, and kicks everyone out, but doesn't have the chance since he tugs her from the barstool, saying, "Wanna dance? This song is totally making me wanna dance."

She lets herself be pulled, and laughs a little when she says, "Do I finally get to see if your dance scholarship paid off?"

He doesn't let go of her hand, but turns to her, grinning, a signal flame alight in his eyes, shaking his head at her comment. It would be impossible to hear over the music now, so Percy just takes ahold of her other hand, and they dance.

Unfortunately, there isn't enough room for any form of interpretive dancing, besides the same move anyone practices at a concert, jumping up and down, but Annabeth is happy either way.

They stay like that for a few songs. A rocky, lyrically upbeat song, a slower ballad, and in the middle of something that feels like a combination of the two, Percy's suddenly leading Annabeth towards the door, and despite her confusion, she lets herself be pulled.

The crack of the lock echos against the quiet, snowy road and the near freezing temperature in the air. Percy doesn't stop, doesn't turn to face her, instead keeps walking, Annabeth following him out into the street. A question nearly tumbles out of her as Percy drags his hand through his hair, a frantic, nervous energy about him.

"I made a mistake," he says to himself, his voice low and distressed. He still doesn't face her.

"What?" Annabeth asks, her heart as confused as her head. Neither dare make any assumptions.

In his pacing, he turns, facing her finally. His chest rises and falls, out of breath, and an expression runs across his features again and again, as if Annabeth can see a stream of thoughts like wild horses behind his eyes. "I made a mistake," he says again.

Annabeth closes a step of distance between them. "What are you talking about?"

Her heart crawls to her throat. What if he wants out? What if he's mentally booking himself the first flight home?

"Calypso," he says, determinedly, as if that answers everything in one word. He scrambles a little to explain. "I mean, it-it wasn't her. It wasn't supposed to be her. I- it never-"

"Percy," she says, stopping him, because, hey, she was here first. She knew since he had turned in a candid moment at a backyard concert, smiling at her with abandon. She knew since he asked her to dance out front and mumbled a song against her cheek. She's lived with it; lived with knowing she'll never be able to tell him, based on her own doubts and worries concerning herself and how she thought he felt about her.
Maybe that had been true, and maybe if she had said it at any other moment, it wouldn't have been right.

But he's here. He's here! And she knew from the moment she'd seen him, cold blushing his cheeks, wind enviously tousling his hair, that she is never not going to be his and only his.

So she takes the moment from him, because it's hers to take.

"I'm in love with you," she tells him, finally.

In all his attempts, Percy stops, leveling his expression at her, seeking the truth of her words in the glimmering fallen snow reflected in her eyes. He steps towards her, against her, his hand hugging her cheek, thumb caressing her soft skin, the tips of his fingers curling in her hair. "I love you, Annabeth," he tells her, a spark catching the fuse, and Annabeth thinks the fireworks will go on for as long as her heart beats.

Her nose stings in the way it does before tears dampen her eyes, but before they can, her arm reaches up, thumb brushing his cheek in the way she always wanted to, and just as a glassiness fogs up Percy's eyes, he closes what must be all the space left in the entire world, just to kiss her.

Like vines against an old house, Annabeth and Percy wrap themselves in each other. She pulls him closer, he squeezes them tighter, until the joy in Annabeth's chest bubbles out in a laugh and their teeth clash in equally unbridled smiles.

Had it really been so cold out here only a moment ago? Against his jacket, Annabeth could swear she stands before a roaring hearth, warmth filling her to the very tips of herself. Here, she finds a blossoming carnation in the snow. Here, she finds summer in the silvery autumn evening.

"Did you really have to wait until I made it to Wales to realize?" Annabeth says breathlessly through her smile.

Percy's head tilts back and he laughs, exposing his throat to her. That, she'd get to later. "It was actually Thalia who sort of helped me figure it out. Though, I really thought she was gonna murder me."

"When did you meet Thalia?" Already, Annabeth could picture herself in a few months at a table in her best friends coffee shop, laughing with Thalia and Percy like old friends. The idea sparkles like magic in her imagination.

Percy blushes. They're still pressed ultimately together, holding each other by the waist, not intent on letting go, only getting closer. They mirror each others expressions, all smiles and sparkles in their eyes. "I went to the cafe," he says shyly. "To be fair, I didn't think they'd be open so I wasn't expecting to meet her or anything."

Annabeth laughs, her smile like a summer sunrise. "So you were planning on sitting outside a closed coffee shop on a cold bench all by yourself?" she teases.

His smile softens. "I missed you."

Her heart wraps its arms around itself in a hug, sighing contentedly. Percy pulls away a little with a start. He asks her with an inquisitive, guarded look, "You don't have a scary overseas boyfriend running around here somewhere, do you?"

Annabeth laughs, light as a feather, enough that she can't feel the ground beneath her feet. "No," she confirms for him. "But I'm pretty sure I shared a bed with a rat a few hotels ago."

Percy's expression flits between 'oh, boy', to a begrudging agreeance. "I'm better than a rat," he amends for himself.

"In some ways," Annabeth levels.

Percy scoffs. "Like what?"

She shrugs offhandedly. "The rat really didn't take up that much space in the bed-"

She's cut off with her own giddy scream as Percy wraps his arms around her waist and, lifting her off the ground, swings her in a few dizzying circles, the two of them laughing even as Annabeth protests. He sets her down with a kiss to her cheek, then a trail of them to her mouth that leaves Annabeth more out of breath than the spinning.

"Are you staying for the rest of tour?" Percy asks, smiling breathlessly, cherishing her in his arms.

Annabeth's eyes trail back to the bar, a short brick building with an ugly grey door, then back to Percy's face, flitting to his blushing lips, then to his eyes, like flickering moonlight. "Yeah, I think I will. My pictures might really help get these guys off the ground, now that I can actually release them."

Percy's smile only widens. "Then what are we doing?"

Annabeth matches his expression, her heart picking up a few paces. "Maybe see what Whine With Me's doing. There's a chance they could need a new photographer for various… tours, venues. Festivals."

"And," Percy says, "you'll need someone there to… hold your camera bag, right?"

Annabeth smiles, disbelieving, but also knowing how true to his character it is for him to willingly give up his own life for her. As much as she wants to fall head first, good sense tugs her back, handing her the questions on a notecard. "Don't you have something you want to do, Percy? As much as I love to do this?" she says, gesturing to the camera around her neck.

He's already shaking his head. "I don't need any of that. We're young, these are the years we're supposed to do stuff like this."

"But what about your future?" Annabeth braces herself. "Won't you be unsatisfied just… following me around?"

To this, Percy cradles her head in his hands, easing her eyes into his. "Regarding my future," he says with a teasing smile. "There's no need to worry about any of that. My grandmother issued a trust fund under my name before she passed. I- I got access to it when I turned twenty-one. It's- It's enough money to set me for life. And as for the rest of it. Annabeth, I meant it when I said that was the summer of my life. You've changed my life just by being in it. I could never be unsatisfied."

Her heart softens. "Percy…"

Instead of hearing it, he presses his lips to hers in an achingly perfect kiss. She pulls back and swats his arm lightly. "Were you ever going to tell me about that?"

He laughs at her change of subject. "You never asked."

"Never asked! Percy! How was I supposed to know to ask you about grandmas and trust funds and if you're unfathomably rich?"

He shrugs, teasing her with a smug smile. "It wasn't important."

She shakes her head, not ready to let it go, even if the smile on her face admits for her that she isn't really upset. "What about the Whine With Me night? You could've gotten us an Uber home."

"I didn't have my wallet."

"You-" she says with an accusing finger, the way someone whose been looking all over for their keys looks to the person who had them in their pocket the whole time. "You planned that."

"Nobody could've planned that happening."

She shakes her head, still a little lost in disbelief. "Were you ever gonna… pay me back? I mean," she says with a laugh, "I did pay for a lot of your subway tickets, meals, show entries…"

Her smile is light and joking, but Percy just shakes his head, lips turned up at the edges easily. "Add it up. I'll pay you back in full, whatever you want. I only want you." He knocks his forehead against hers.

Now her disbelief is for his impossible perfectness. An angel, she has here, running the pad of his thumb against her cheek. "You really want to do all this will me?"

He nods against her head, serious for only a moment. "Yes," he says. "Only if you'll have me."

To this, Annabeth rolls her eyes with a grin, throwing her arms over his shoulders until her nose brushes his and his hands wrap around her waist. "I'll allow it," she mumbles, pressing into him, and finally, finally kissing him herself.

Um...

hey guys.

so its been years.

yeah...

Recently, I went back and reread everything I had written (that I still have saved) (rip most of Sixth Period Study Hall, you are lost to history) and was, truly, appalled by the ending of this story.

Truthfully, and this is just me talking now, I was in high school, and busy with friends. I wanted to finish this story as an end to an era in my life.

Well, I wrote about five hundred words to sum up a story that began with nearly eleven thousand. How ridiculous?

Anyway. Years later and here I am. Attempting to write my own (real!) book, and as authors usually find themselves, stuck in a rut. I craved something fun, something satisfying, and knew nothing could come close but to properly finish a story that had at one point been my proudest accomplishment.

If you decide to reread chapter one before this one, you'll find the difference in what a handful of years does to someone's skill. I could not redo the first chapter, because at the time that was the best I could possibly do, but the second half was not, and as you'll find it, is no longer included in this story. 102 deserves a proper ending. You (whoever is left out there) deserve a proper ending!

I do hope there are still echoes of you all out there, and that maybe someone will see this and remember all those years ago. If not and you're new here, Hello! Welcome in!

Either way, old friend or new, I am glad you are here.

This may or may not be an official return for me. I don't have anything planned seeing as I'm writing a whole book in the meantime (as well as experiencing life itself). But who knows, maybe a fun one shot or few chapter story is in our future, we shall see.

Truly, I'm not sure if anyone is left on this site.

If you are, hello. I hope you found something here.

Thank you eternally for reading. It's been a long time since I've shared anything. I really hope you enjoyed!

If you please, and this is only if you please, the review button is available! You can leave feedback! only if you please!

I'd love to hear it, or hear anything.

Otherwise, yeah.

I hope life is treating everyone exceptionally well, and if it isn't, we can gather here and watch two fools fall in love and pretend it is anyway.

-leigh.