Chapter Text
percy gets to her campus early enough that the cold has time to settle in properly.
at first it’s just his fingers, a dull stiffness he shakes out as he walks. then it creeps into his toes, the backs of his knees, the places that always seem to feel it first. he tells himself it’s fine. this is what winter does.
he slows when he reaches the main quad, scanning the paths the way he always does. there’s a rhythm to this place that he’s learned without trying. the steady stream from the academic buildings. the bottleneck near the dorms. the brief lull right before everyone floods out at once.
he picks a spot near a bench dusted with old snow, close enough to see clearly but not so close that he looks like he’s hovering. backpack over one shoulder, hands in his coat pockets, scarf pulled high when the wind kicks up.
students pass him in clumps. voices overlap. someone’s complaining about how they still have work due even though it’s a long weekend. someone else is laughing like they’ve already forgotten all of it. percy listens without really listening, eyes tracking the familiar paths.
he checks his phone once. nothing yet. that’s fine.
waiting for annabeth never feels like wasted time. it feels like the pause before something good.
he sees her before she sees him.
she’s walking fast, cutting through the crowd like she always does. her roommate’s beside her, talking animatedly. annabeth’s listening, head tilted, responding with quick comments. her hair’s braided, boho knotless, pulled back from her face neatly but loose enough that the ends brush her back.
percy smiles before he realizes he’s doing it.
he pushes off the bench and takes a few steps closer to the path. he doesn’t wave. he just waits.
annabeth looks up mid sentence.
the moment she sees him, something in her softens. her steps slow just a little. her shoulders drop, like she’s setting something down. she says something quick to her roommate and heads straight for him, boots crunching softly on frozen gravel.
“you’re already here,” she says when she reaches him.
“couldn’t help it.”
she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. she steps closer than she needs to, the front of her coat brushing his.
“it’s freezing,” she says.
“you say that every time.”
“because it keeps being true.”
she shifts her backpack higher on her shoulder and it immediately slips. percy reaches out without thinking and slides the strap free, settling it against his side.
annabeth watches him do it, like she’s about to argue, then just exhales.
“thanks,” she says.
“yeah.”
her roommate slows a few steps away, turning back with an expression percy recognizes instantly.
“wow,” she says. “you didn’t even ask.”
percy adjusts the strap on his shoulder. “she’s been carrying it all day.”
“she always carries it all day.”
“not anymore.”
annabeth groans softly. “please don’t make this a thing.”
the roommate’s eyes flick between them, amused. the way percy’s already angled toward annabeth. the way annabeth hasn’t moved to take her bag back.
“whipped,” the roommate says lightly.
percy nods once. “and proud!”
annabeth drops her head back. “oh my god.”
“i’m comfortable with myself,” he says.
she looks up at him, half amused, half fond. “you’re ridiculous.”
the roommate laughs. “i’m heading in. text me when you get there.”
“i will.”
she hesitates, then adds, “still can’t believe you climbed the fire escape last semester.”
annabeth groans. “we said we were done talking about that.”
percy shrugs. “the window was unlocked.”
“that wasn’t an invitation.”
“felt like one.”
annabeth presses her forehead briefly into his coat, shoulders shaking a little. percy stays still, smiling.
the roommate shakes her head, still smiling, and turns back toward the dorms.
once she’s gone, annabeth straightens and exhales. “she’s never letting that go.”
“probably not.”
they start walking, turning away from the quad. the wind hits harder as they leave the shelter of the buildings. percy shifts without thinking, putting himself closer to the street.
annabeth notices. she always does.
she slides her hands into his coat pockets, fingers cold against his wrists. percy slows his pace to match hers.
“you excited?” he asks.
“yeah,” she says. “a lot.”
“no classes monday.”
“i know. it still feels fake.”
they walk in easy quiet for a while. annabeth watches the ground, stepping carefully around slick patches. percy keeps an eye on the path ahead, guiding her gently when the sidewalk narrows. every so often she bumps her shoulder into his, not quite accidental.
the subway entrance comes into view, warm air rising up to meet them. annabeth exhales as they start down the steps.
“i missed this,” she says.
percy smiles, tightening his grip on her backpack strap as they disappear underground.
somehow they get seats, and as soon as they sit down it’s immediate how annabeth’s body reacts, like the act of sitting on the train itself gives her permission to shut something off. her shoulders drop. her spine curves slightly instead of staying rigid. she presses her knees together and then lets one angle toward percy, foot hooking lightly around the leg of the seat.
percy notices all of it. he always does. he doesn’t comment. he just shifts to match her, a quiet mirroring that’s been happening between them for years.
the doors close. the train lurches. annabeth rocks forward a little and catches herself with one hand on his thigh without thinking. neither of them reacts right away. then she realizes and doesn’t move it.
“sorry,” she says, reflexive.
“it’s okay,” he says, equally reflexive.
she leaves her hand there for another second, then pulls it back slowly, like she’s testing whether the moment is fragile. it isn’t. it just folds back into place.
“it smells like metal and exhaust in here,” she says suddenly.
he laughs softly. “that’s… very specific.”
“it’s comforting,” she insists. “it smells like the forge.”
“you and your weird comfort things.”
“you love my weird comfort things.”
he shrugs. “i do.”
the train picks up speed, the hum settling into something steady and low. annabeth leans back, head resting against the plastic, eyes tracking the route map above the door even though she knows it by heart. percy watches her eyes move, the way they flick ahead two or three stops like she’s subconsciously planning anyway.
“stop doing that,” he says.
she blinks. “doing what.”
“thinking ahead.”
she frowns slightly. “i’m not.”
“you are,” he says. “your eyes do that thing.”
she exhales, then smiles a little. “i guess i’m unwinding slowly.”
“you don’t have to be on,” he reminds her.
“i know,” she says. “i just forget sometimes.”
she scoots closer, the movement small but intentional, and lets her shoulder rest against his arm. percy doesn’t stiffen. he relaxes into it, tilting slightly so she fits better.
“so,” she says. “tell me something boring.”
“boring…” he trails off.
“yeah.”
he thinks for a second. “i cleaned my desk drawer today.”
she hums. “that is boring.”
“i found three pens that don’t work and one coin i don’t recognize.”
“it’s probably cursed.”
“probably.”
“did you throw it out?”
“no,” he says. “i put it back.”
she laughs quietly. “of course you did.”
the train slows for a stop. people get on, brushing past their knees. annabeth instinctively tucks closer to percy, the crowd pressing in for a moment before thinning out while the car settles again. annabeth adjusts her bag with her foot, then gives up and nudges it toward him.
“can you—”
“got it,” he says, lifting it easily and tucking it between his legs so it won’t slide.
she watches him do it, then looks away like she’s pretending not to notice how attentive he is.
“you don’t have to do that every time,” she says.
“i know.”
“then why do you?”
he shrugs. “i like taking care of you.”
she’s quiet for a second, then softer, “i like when you do.”
she leans her head against his shoulder, this time without hesitation. percy’s arm comes up, draping loosely around her, his hand resting near her upper arm.
“no alarm,” she murmurs.
“no alarm,” he echoes.
“say it like it’s a promise.”
“it is,” he says. “no alarm.”
she relaxes more fully, eyes closing. not asleep. just resting. her breathing slows, evening out with the rhythm of the train.
they ride like that for a few minutes, the city sliding past, until that familiar prickle returns.
percy notices first. the sensation of being gently, deliberately noticed.
he looks up.
the woman sits across from them, posture elegant, gaze warm. she looks at them like she’s seeing something unfold exactly as expected. not surprised or even intrusive, just observant.
annabeth stirs almost immediately, like some instinct is tugging at her. she opens her eyes, follows his gaze, and sighs through her nose.
“…wow,” she murmurs. “she’s really committing to subtle.”
percy huffs a quiet laugh. “this is subtle?”
“for her,” annabeth says.
the woman smiles when annabeth looks directly at her. it’s brief. contained. like a nod of acknowledgment rather than an interruption.
annabeth leans back into percy again, reclaiming the space. “i don’t like being catalogued.”
“i don’t think she’s judging,” he says. “more like… checking on her work.”
“gross,” annabeth mutters, then pauses. “but also… yeah.”
the woman looks away a moment later, attention drifting elsewhere, presence fading without drama.
annabeth exhales. “i’m telling piper later.”
“she’s going to be unbearable,” percy says.
“she already is.”
annabeth shifts, tucking her feet slightly under herself, curling in closer. percy presses a light kiss to the top of her braids, casual, unselfconscious.
“hey,” she says, eyes still closed.
“yeah.”
“thanks for always coming to get me.”
he doesn’t joke this time. “always.”
she smiles, content, and lets the rest of the train ride stretch on, the city moving around them while they stay exactly where they are.
—
they push out of the subway and the wind hits, cold enough to make annabeth suck in a sharp breath. she tucks her scarf tighter and shoves her hands into her coat pockets, braids bouncing against her shoulder.
“why is it always like this?” she mutters, squinting at the street ahead.
“friday afternoon,” percy says, stepping up beside her. “everyone’s leaving work at the same time. city’s packed.”
“yeah, thanks for that insight,” she says, jabbing him lightly with her elbow. “i would have never guessed.”
he grins, brushing snow off his jacket. “i’m thorough like that. covering all the bases.”
they start walking, boots crunching on icy patches. the street is crowded, people in a hurry, taxis weaving in between them. annabeth hooks her elbow through his for a second, braid brushing his sleeve.
“so,” annabeth says, “dinner tonight?”
“mom’s cooking something,” he says. “the apartment smells like garlic bread.”
“sounds promising,” she says, smirking. “i’m starving.”
“you’ll survive,” he says, grinning. “hot food and warmth are close.”
“good,” she says. “i can’t wait.”
a gust of wind blows down the street, and she hugs her coat tighter. percy walks closer, letting her shoulder brush his for a moment.
“your block is colder than the subway,” she says.
“almost there,” he says. “just a few more steps.”
“fine,” she mutters, exhaling sharply. “i’ll survive.”
they pass a few people—someone arguing over directions, a couple hurrying with shopping bags. annabeth tilts her head, looking up at the streetlights turning on.
“it’s starting to get pretty,” she says.
“yeah,” he agrees. “evening city light is nice.”
they turn the corner and the building comes into view. annabeth lets out a small sigh. percy opens the door, letting warm air spill out. she steps inside, shrugging off her coat and letting her braid fall freely over her shoulder.
“finally,” she says, smiling faintly.
he follows her in, closing the door. the apartment smells faintly of grease, warm and inviting.
the door opens and the warmth hits them right away. annabeth steps in first, easing her shoes off near the mat, braid loosening as she shrugs out of her coat. percy comes in behind her, pushing the door closed with his foot.
“hey,” sally says from the kitchen, glancing up from the stove. her smile is easy, familiar. “you make it before it gets dark?”
“barely,” annabeth says, smiling back. “it’s freezing out there.”
sally hums sympathetically. “yeah. it dropped fast today.” she steps over and pulls annabeth into a quick hug, the kind that’s second nature now. “i’m glad you’re here.”
“me too,” annabeth says softly.
paul lifts his mug in greeting from the counter. “hey, annabeth.”
“hi,” she says, leaning in to hug him too, brief and warm. “something smells really good.”
“that’s because your expectations are low,” percy says, toeing off his sneakers.
sally swats his arm with the towel. “ignore him.”
estelle is on the floor by the couch, lining up blocks with intense focus. she glances up when they come in, watches annabeth for a second, then goes back to what she’s doing without comment.
annabeth smiles at her anyway. “hey, stella.”
“hi,” estelle says, distracted, pushing a block into place.
nothing dramatic. just normal.
they eat a little later, all crowded around the table. annabeth sits between sally and percy, knees brushing his under the table once or twice. estelle talks the most, mostly about something that happened at daycare that only half makes sense. annabeth listens seriously, nodding along, asking small questions like it all matters.
after dinner, sally starts clearing plates. paul gathers cups. percy offers to help and gets sent away.
annabeth kneels by estelle, helping her pick up blocks, stacking them neatly. estelle watches her hands closely.
“you’re good at that,” estelle says.
“i’ve had practice,” annabeth says. “i like lining things up.”
estelle considers this, then hands her another block without being asked.
later, they migrate to the living room. estelle insists on a movie she's watched ten times, climbing over both of them before settling sideways between percy and annabeth. percy drapes a blanket over all three of them.
“this is crowded,” annabeth says.
estelle nods solemnly. “family.”
percy laughs quietly. annabeth leans into his side, head resting against his shoulder. he shifts just enough to make it more comfortable.
but estelle doesn’t stay still for long.
she wiggles free from the blanket, climbs over percy’s legs like he’s a piece of furniture, and plops herself directly in front of the tv. she watches for maybe ten seconds before turning around again.
“percy,” she says, hands on her hips.
“yeah, estelle?”
“you’re in my spot.”
percy looks down at the couch, then at annabeth, then back at estelle. “you were sitting on annabeth.”
estelle considers this. then nods once. “i sit there now.”
annabeth lifts her hands immediately. “i’m flexible.”
“traitor,” percy mutters, scooting over anyway.
estelle climbs back up, wedges herself between them again, then leans pointedly against annabeth’s side. annabeth wraps an arm around her without even thinking, rubbing slow circles into her back.
percy watches this happen, fond and doomed.
five minutes later, he reaches over and smooths a loose braid where it’s slipped forward over annabeth’s shoulder. it’s small. barely noticeable. his fingers barely touch her body.
estelle whips around.
“no,” she says sharply.
percy freezes. “no what?”
“no touching annabeth.”
annabeth bites her lip to keep from laughing. “estelle—”
“she’s mine right now,” estelle insists.
percy raises his hands in surrender. “okay, okay. sorry.”
estelle watches him for a moment, suspicious, then turns back to the movie.
annabeth tilts her head slightly toward him. “you okay?”
he leans in, murmuring, “apparently i’m on probation.”
she smiles, soft and warm, and deliberately reaches for his hand under the blanket, lacing their fingers together where estelle cannot see.
percy squeezes once. subtle. contained. it feels like a secret.
until estelle shifts again.
“percy.”
“yes, estelle.”
“are you holding hands?”
percy closes his eyes for a second. annabeth absolutely loses the fight with her smile.
“maybe,” he says carefully.
estelle frowns. “that’s pre-kissing.”
annabeth laughs out loud this time. “pre-kissing?”
“mommy says holding hands leads to kissing,” estelle says seriously. “and kissing is gross.”
percy hums. “not always.”
estelle gasps. “annabeth, he’s being weird.”
annabeth puts on a thoughtful face. “he does that sometimes.”
estelle nods like this explains everything.
percy shifts closer anyway, letting his knee press against annabeth’s thigh. he drops his chin lightly onto the top of her head, not a kiss, just contact. annabeth melts into it immediately, like her body recognizes the shape of him before her brain does.
estelle notices. of course she does.
“percy.”
“yeah?”
“you’re doing it again.”
“doing what.”
“being clingy.”
annabeth raises an eyebrow. “is he?”
estelle squints at them both. “yes.”
percy smiles, unrepentant. “i’ve been like this since we were thirteen.”
estelle points at him. “well stop.”
annabeth laughs so hard she has to hide her face in his shoulder. percy wraps his arm around her reflexively, holding her there while she settles.
“sorry,” annabeth says, muffled. “i just—”
“you’re on his side,” estelle accuses.
annabeth peeks up. “i might be.”
estelle sighs dramatically, then crawls fully into annabeth’s lap, back to percy, like she’s building a physical barrier. annabeth adjusts again, automatically accommodating, one hand still tucked into percy’s.
percy watches the two of them, his heart doing something stupid and soft in his chest.
later, when the movie’s mostly just background noise, estelle’s head droops. annabeth gently braids the loose strands of her hair that have escaped, fingers light and practiced.
percy leans in close, murmuring, “you’re really good with her.”
annabeth doesn’t look up. “she’s easy to love.”
he brushes his thumb once over annabeth’s knuckles. barely there.
estelle’s eyes snap open. “i saw that.”
percy laughs quietly, helpless. annabeth just grins, entirely unashamed.
the movie gets quieter toward the end, colors dimming, music slowing. estelle’s leaned fully into annabeth now, head heavy against her side, blinking a little slower each time.
annabeth notices first. she shifts just enough to look down at her. “hey,” she says gently. “you tired?”
“no,” estelle says immediately, eyes still on the screen.
her eyes close two seconds later.
percy grins. “that was convincing.”
estelle opens one eye. “i’m not sleeping.”
annabeth smiles. “okay. just resting.”
the credits start rolling.
sally appears in the doorway, already smiling like she clocked this ten minutes ago. “alright,” she says softly. “bedtime.”
estelle frowns without moving. “i’m watching.”
“you watched,” sally says. “the whole thing.”
estelle tightens her grip on annabeth’s sleeve and she laughs quietly. “i can walk her.”
percy immediately leans forward. “i can—”
estelle turns her head just enough to look at him. “no.”
percy stops mid-motion. “wow.”
sally hides a smile. “annabeth can do it.”
annabeth carefully shifts, easing estelle up into her arms. estelle wraps around her without complaint, head immediately dropping onto annabeth’s shoulder like she’s been waiting for permission.
percy watches them stand up, mildly offended but amused. “i helped raise her.”
“you did not,” annabeth says.
“emotionally,” percy argues.
estelle pats annabeth’s shoulder once. “bedtime.”
annabeth carries her down the hall, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. the door to estelle’s room closes a moment later.
percy sinks back into the couch, stretching out. “i lost twice tonight.”
paul chuckles from the kitchen. “happens.”
sally flicks off a lamp. “you two don’t stay up too late.”
“we won’t,” percy says automatically.
annabeth comes back a few minutes later, quieter now, hair a little messier, sleeves pushed up.
“she out?” percy asks.
“immediately,” annabeth says. “like a switch.”
percy smiles. “traitor.”
sally kisses annabeth’s cheek gently. “goodnight, honey.”
“night,” annabeth says.
paul lifts a hand. “sleep well.”
they disappear down the hall, the apartment settling into that late-evening quiet.
annabeth barely sits before percy’s pulling her into him again, quick and easy like muscle memory. she laughs out loud this time, hands bracing on his chest as he tucks her into his side.
“you’re actually impossible,” she says, still smiling.
he grins, nose brushing her hair. “i waited.”
“for what, exactly?”
“for this.”
he squeezes her once, playful, and she squeaks, trying to wriggle away. she doesn’t get far. her laughter comes in little bursts as he keeps pulling her back in, kissing her cheek, her temple, anywhere he can reach without really aiming.
“percy,” she laughs, breathless. “stop.”
“i am stopping,” he says, immediately kissing her again.
she presses her face into his shoulder to hide her smile, still laughing, fingers curling into his sweatshirt. after a moment she settles, head tucked under his chin, both of them still grinning like idiots.
they stay like that, catching their breath, the apartment quiet and warm.
annabeth lifts her head slightly. “i want something sweet.”
he hums. “same.”
she tilts her head, thinking for half a second. then her eyes light up. “mug cakes.”
he looks at her. “right now?”
“right now.”
he smiles like she’s just said something genius. “yeah. absolutely.”
she laughs again and nudges him with her knee. “come on.”
he groans dramatically but stands anyway, tugging her up with him. “worth breaking the peace for.”
and just like that, they’re off to the kitchen.
the kitchen light hums faintly when percy flicks it on, like it’s been awake longer than either of them. annabeth wanders in behind him, tugging her hoodie sleeves down over her hands, eyes still a little sleepy from the movie. she leans her hip against the counter and looks around like she’s taking inventory of a place she already knows by heart.
percy goes straight for the cabinet with the mugs. he opens it, squints.
“okay,” he says. “we’ve got the chipped blue one, the ‘world’s best dad’ one, and the one that says atlantic city.”
annabeth tilts her head. “why does your family own these weird mugs.”
“sentimental value,” he says solemnly, handing her the chipped one. “this one has survived three moves and at least one flood. and i think a few monster attacks.”
“great,” she says. “i trust my dessert to it.”
she hops up onto the counter while he sets them down, heels tapping softly against the cabinet doors. he notices, like he always does, how easily she fits here—how she doesn’t hover like a guest, doesn’t ask where things are anymore.
she watches him open the pantry, then sighs. “okay, ingredients check. flour, sugar, cocoa powder… baking powder?”
“top shelf,” he says without looking. “left side. behind the cereal.”
she blinks. “how did you—”
“mom makes pancakes every sunday,” he says. “i’ve been yelled at for grabbing the wrong thing.”
she smiles a little and reaches for it, stretching on her toes even though she doesn’t need to. percy steps in automatically, hand hovering at her waist like a safety net, even though she’s perfectly steady.
“don’t drop it,” he says.
“i’m not you,” she replies, amused.
they start lining things up. annabeth insists on measuring properly, spooning flour into the measuring cup and leveling it with precise, practiced motions. percy watches her for a second, then grabs the sugar and just pours.
she looks over, pauses, and squints at him. “did you measure that”
“i eyeballed it.”
“that’s not a thing.”
“it is for me.”
she reaches over and taps the side of his mug. “that’s way too much.”
“it’s a mug cake,” he says. “it’s not supposed to be gourmet.”
“no, but it should be edible.”
she scoops a little sugar back out and dumps it into the bag. he groans dramatically.
“you’re ruining my creative vision.”
“your creative vision would give someone a cavity.”
they bump elbows reaching for the cocoa powder at the same time. annabeth laughs and nudges him with her shoulder, gentle but intentional.
“move,” she says.
“wow,” he replies. “such hostility.”
“you’re in my way.”
he steps aside exaggeratedly, holding his hands up. “after you, architect.”
she ignores him, focused, until he leans closer than necessary and peers into her mug.
“that looks… brown.”
“it’s chocolate.”
“right, but like. very brown.”
she flicks her eyes up at him. “do you want to help or just narrate.”
“narrating is helping.”
she reaches for the flour again, and this time when she turns, there’s a faint white streak across the sleeve of her hoodie. she doesn’t notice. percy does.
he grins.
“hey,” he says. “you’ve got flour on you.”
she looks down. “where?”
“uh—” he taps her arm, deliberately smearing it more. “there.”
she stares at the mark. then at him.
“…did you just—”
“nope,” he says immediately.
she hops off the counter, grabs the flour bag, and shakes it lightly in his direction. a little puff drifts toward him and lands on his chest.
he gasps. “betrayal.”
“you started it.”
“i absolutely did not.”
she steps closer, smirking, and brushes her hand against his shoulder, leaving another dusty print. “oops.”
he looks down at it, then back up at her, eyes bright. “okay. war.”
he reaches for the bag but she pulls it away, laughing as she backs up. he lunges clumsily, knocking his elbow into the counter, sending a small cloud of flour into the air.
they both freeze for a second, watching it float down.
“we’re so dead,” annabeth whispers, trying not to laugh.
“worth it,” percy whispers back.
she throws a small handful at him. it hits his cheek and leaves a streak across his jaw. he splutters, laughing, and retaliates, somehow dumping flour everywhere but her.
“you’re terrible at this,” she says between laughs.
“i’m distracted!”
“by what?”
“you!”
she shakes her head, grinning, and tosses another handful. it catches in his hair this time.
“oh my gods,” he says. “i look like a powdered donut.”
she reaches up without thinking, brushing at his hair with careful fingers. “hold still.”
he does. completely. watches her face as she concentrates, tongue caught between her teeth just slightly.
she finishes, then realizes how close they are.
“…there,” she says quietly.
“thanks,” he replies, just as quiet.
he lifts his hand and wipes gently at her cheek. she hadn’t noticed the smudge there either. his thumb lingers, brushing flour away in slow strokes.
“you missed some,” he says.
“where?”
“here. and here.”
he keeps looking at her like he’s mapping her face. she swallows, smiling a little.
“you’re staring,” she says.
“yeah,” he admits. “you’re pretty.”
it’s not dramatic. not teased. just said.
her ears go pink. “i have flour all over me.”
“pretty,” he repeats, smiling.
she laughs softly and nudges him away with her shoulder. “finish your mug cake.”
they finally get everything mixed, both mugs shoved into the microwave. percy hits the buttons, leans back against the counter beside her.
they’re both dusted with flour now, clothes speckled, hands still white at the fingertips.
annabeth glances at him. “we’re cleaning this up.”
“absolutely,” he says. “eventually.”
she bumps her shoulder against his and lets her head rest there while the microwave hums. he tilts his head, resting it lightly against hers.
they don’t say anything. they don’t need to.
they take the mugs down the hall like they’re transporting something fragile and sacred, both of them cupping the warm ceramic with their sleeves pulled over their hands. percy nudges his door open with his foot and flicks the light on with his elbow.
his room smells faintly like detergent and lake water and chocolate now. annabeth steps inside first, instinctive, like it’s already hers too. she sets her mug down on his desk, pushing aside a stack of notebooks without even looking at them, then perches on the edge of his bed.
“okay,” she says. “moment of truth.”
percy sits beside her, back against the headboard, knees bent. he peers into his mug suspiciously, pokes at the top with a spoon.
“it didn’t explode,” he says. “that’s a win.”
“that was a real concern for you?”
“i have a history with microwaves.”
she snorts, remembering a time in the argo kitchen that resulted with leo mad at him for a few hours, and takes a careful bite, blowing on it even though it’s already cooling. she chews, thoughtful. percy watches her face like he’s waiting for a verdict from a judge.
“…okay,” she says slowly. “this is actually good.”
he brightens instantly. “yes.”
“mine’s better than yours though.”
“absolutely not.”
she takes another bite, deliberately exaggerated, then glances at him sideways. “you can try it if you want.”
he doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. he leans over, scoops a bite from her mug, eats it.
“…wow,” he admits. “okay. yeah. that’s better.”
she grins smugly. “precision.”
“don’t get cocky.”
he holds his mug out toward her. “try mine.”
she does, immediately makes a face. not bad, just very sweet.
“percy,” she says gently, “this is basically sugar soup.”
“you’re just not a visionary.”
she laughs and shifts closer, knees brushing his thigh as she settles back against the pillows. they eat in companionable silence for a minute, the only sounds the clink of spoons against ceramic and the distant murmur of the tv still on in the living room.
percy finishes first, because of course he does. he sets his mug aside and watches her eat instead, chin tipped down, eyes soft.
she notices. eventually. she always does.
“…what,” she asks around a bite.
“nothing.”
“you’re doing the thing.”
“what thing.”
“the staring.”
he shrugs, unapologetic. “i like looking at you.”
she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway, cheeks warm. she takes another bite, then another, slower now, like she’s in no rush to be done.
when she finally sets the mug back down on his desk. percy immediately shifts closer, arms sliding around her waist, tugging her back against his chest. she squeaks a little, surprised, then laughs as she settles into him.
“wow,” she says. “subtle.”
“i’ve been patient all evening,” he says. “estelle vetoed me. i earned this.”
she leans back into him fully now, head tipping against his shoulder. his chin rests lightly in her hair. one hand hooks loosely at her hip, the other fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.
“you’re warm,” she murmurs.
“you stole my hoodie.”
“you can’t prove that,” she’s smiling though, as his name is printed across the back of it.
he presses a quick kiss into her hair, barely there. she hums, content, fingers curling into his sleeve like it’s automatic.
they sit like that for a while. not talking. just breathing together, the room quiet and dim and safe.
after a minute, percy shifts, grinning against her temple. “so. objectively. mine was still good.”
she tilts her head back to look at him. “objectively, no.”
“subjectively?”
“still no.”
he gasps softly. “cruel.”
she laughs, turning in his arms just enough to face him, knees tucked between his. she reaches up and brushes a bit of dried flour from his eyebrow.
“you missed some,” she says.
he smiles at her like she hung the moon. “i like that you keep fixing me.”
“someone has to.”
he leans forward and kisses her, their lips soft and lingering, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. she kisses him back, smiling into it, hands resting warm at his sides.
when they pull apart, she rests her forehead against his.
“…next time,” she says quietly, “we add chocolate chips.”
he grins. “next time,” he agrees, like there was ever any doubt.
they don’t move for a while after that. not in any decisive way, at least. annabeth stays half-turned toward him, one knee resting against his thigh, her socked foot absentmindedly brushing his calf every so often. percy’s arm is still around her, loose but certain, like he’s anchoring her there without needing to think about it.
she reaches for her mug again, scraping the last little bit from the bottom with her spoon. “i can’t believe this worked.”
“you doubted me.”
“no, just your non-measurements,” she corrects. “there’s a difference.”
he huffs a laugh, chest vibrating lightly against her shoulder. she leans back into it without thinking, her head settling just under his collarbone. it feels natural, like gravity made a decision for her.
percy nudges her with his chin. “you comfortable?”
“mm,” she says, noncommittal, already relaxing into it. “maybe.”
he tightens his arm just a fraction. “you sound like you’re lying.”
she smiles to herself. “i might be.”
they lapse into quiet again. the room is dark except for the lamp by his bed, casting everything in a warm yellow. outside, there’s the faint sound of traffic and someone laughing on the street below, muffled by distance and glass and the ticking of the radiator.
annabeth yawns before she can stop herself.
percy notices immediately. “tired?”
“no,” she says automatically, then pauses. “…okay maybe a little.”
“it’s like,” he glances at his clock, squinting. “barely ten.”
“i’ve had a long day,” she mutters. “your family is exhausting.”
“hey.”
she tips her head back to look at him, smiling so he knows she’s kidding. “i like them.”
“good save.”
she shifts again, this time deliberately curling more into his side, her arm sliding around his waist. he exhales softly, instinctively adjusting to make room for her, one leg stretching out so she can tuck her feet between his knees.
“we probably shouldn’t fall asleep here,” she says, even as her eyelids droop a little.
“probably,” he agrees, not moving at all.
she hums, tracing an idle shape on his chest with her finger. “if we do, estelle’s going to be so smug tomorrow.”
“she already is smug,” he says. “that’s her baseline.”
annabeth laughs quietly, then stills. after a second, she murmurs, “your room’s quieter at night.”
“yeah,” he says. “it’s better when you’re here.”
she pretends not to hear that, but her fingers curl slightly in the fabric of his shirt.
minutes pass. maybe more. the kind that don’t announce themselves.
annabeth’s breathing slows first. percy notices the way her weight shifts more fully into him, the tension leaving her shoulders. her head slips from his shoulder down to his chest, cheek resting over his heart.
“hey,” he whispers. “don’t go yet.”
she makes a small sound, barely a word. “not going.”
“you’re asleep.”
“not,” she murmurs. “just… resting my eyes.”
he smiles, soft and private. he adjusts the blanket at the foot of the bed, tugging it up and over their legs. she sighs at the warmth, hand drifting up to fist lightly in his shirt again.
he brushes his thumb over her arm, slow and absent. then, carefully, he presses a kiss to her hair, lingering there.
she shifts, nose nudging against his collarbone. “don’t move,” she says sleepily.
“wasn’t planning to.”
another minute passes. then another.
her breathing evens out completely this time, deep and steady. percy stays still, listening, watching the way her chest rises and falls against his. eventually, his own eyelids start to feel heavy too.
he tilts his head, resting it gently against hers. the room is silent except for the sounds of their breathing, warm, filled with the low hum of the city and the faint smell of chocolate.
neither of them wake up again.