a/n: for mari and em, my baes :*

where the heart is;

/

Annabeth's mom had once told her that being in love and finding her soulmate made her feel 'giddy,' which Annabeth thinks she kind of understands. In all those Disney movies, it seems that true love is the remedy to everything; she sees it in her parents, too: they way they laugh and talk and hold hands, with smiles on their lips and stars in their eyes.

She first sees the stars on her arms.

Carelessly drawn, as though done by someone her age but with far less patience, they travel down her elbow and circle her wrist like a bracelet, travelling up and down each finger and resurfacing on the back of her palms. Annabeth might have only just woken up, but she's pretty sure she's never before drawn on her arms in her sleep — the stars are far too amateurish to be done by her hand, anyway — and, as she watches in horrified fascination, another star appears just above her wrist accompanied by a faint itching sensation: a crude six-pointed one that looks a little smudged by the time it's finished.

She does what every sane person would: she screams and runs to her parents' room, crying and holding her arms out the way zombies do. "D-Daaadd —"

"Annabeth?" Her parents stir; her mom sits up almost immediately, holding out her arms and switching on the beside lamp while still blinking the sleep out of her eyes; her dad takes longer to wake. He's not used to waking up before six in the morning, and today is a Sunday, meaning he'll be in bed till at least ten.

Annabeth crawls into her mother's side, shaking, her sobs coming out in little hiccups, holding out her arms for her to inspect. Her mother gasps "Frederick," and pinches her father in the arm, showing him the stars. Her father squints at the marks, then puts on his glasses and squints some more.

"Fascinating," he says finally.

"She's only eleven, too," her mom says.

Her dad chuckles. "He or she is quite the artist."

Annabeth doesn't understand, but her parents aren't panicking or anything, which means that she's probably not in immediate danger. The fear in her chest begins to dissipate. "So...it's not a disease?"

They both laugh, and her mother draws her closer. "No, Annabeth. Remember what we told you about soulmates?" She lifts her sleeve to show Annabeth a small mark resembling an owl wearing glasses near her elbow. Her father, Annabeth knows, has the same mark on the back of his neck.

"Everyone gets different ones," her father says. "Your mom and I —" he smiles at his wife — "got matching tattoos. Some people get their soulmate's first words written on them. Some people —"

"This is a tattoo?" Annabeth interrupts, wrinkling her nose. "I have to live with these for the rest of my life?"

"It's not a tattoo," her mom soothes. She reaches out and presses her thumb against at one of the stars, and, after a few rubs, it begins to smudge, and then it vanishes entirely. "It's just black ink."

"Seems like you've got the kind where whatever you write on your arm will appear on the other's, too," her dad adds. "That's pretty rare."

"So...someone is drawing stars on their arm," Annabeth says. The fear is gone, replaced by a slowly-growing curiosity to learn more about the mysterious markings. "What do I do now?"

"It's up to you," her father replies, smiling and ruffling her hair. "We won't push you to do anything. You can choose whether or not to contact them back, but your soulmate — wherever he or she is — probably doesn't know that you can see what they're drawing, though."

"You want me to draw something back? To let them know I'm here?"

"Like we said, it's up to you." Her mom smiles too, pats her cheek twice, very softly.

"Okay," Annabeth says. "Okay."

Heading back to her room, Annabeth grabs a red pen from her desk and settles on her bed. She thinks of writing her name, and maybe a greeting of some sort, but then decides against it. She uses the pen to etch a small star right in the middle of her left palm, and colors it in. Impossible to miss.

She waits, and a response comes almost immediately: a bigger star that completely envelops hers, followed by a large question mark, this time in blue pen: ?

She starts small, simple, safe. Hi.

Hi? the person replies.

Sorry for surprising you.

It's okay. Then — I guess you're the soulmate person my mom told me about?

I guess, she writes back.

Woah. I didn't expect it to happen like this.

Yeah.

Um — he says, and she has to rub away a bunch of stars as the writing appears on her arm — wow. Wait do you know English. Are you American? I'm sorry I don't know any other languages other than English and a little bit of Latin. DO you know Latin or something? I can try to speak Spanish, too. But that's it.

I know English. I'm from California.

I live in New York. I think California is really far. My mom says it's in a different timezone, and stuff.

Could be worse.

Yeah. You could be in a different country, and we'd have no chance of having anything in common at all. There's a pause, then — What's your name?

It takes her a while to respond, but eventually she decides on — Beth. You can call me Beth. This is the name her parents use when they're all cuddled up on the sofa, watching old romantic comedies and trying to steal each other's popcorn. She's only let the people closest to her call her that.

I'm Perseus, the writing says a second later. hi. Again. And sorry for scribbling on your arm. Or my arm. Both?

It's okay, she writes. I guess we'll have to get used to it.

That's true. And. I guess. nice to meet you. He draws a shaky circle and etches a smiley face inside. It kind of makes her giggle. :)

There is a similar smile on her face when she replies: You too.

/

Over the next two years, they figure out a lot.

Most marks made on one of them will appear shortly on the skin of the other, in the exact same place. Scratches, wounds, and bruises appear with less intensity, but still hurt when pressed hard enough. Perseus tells her very early on that he is clumsy as hell and often gets into scrapes, so it's a relief when she finds out that blood-causing wounds won't cause her to bleed as well. Pens and markers are best for writing on skin, because they're so bold and smooth. Pencils are great for leaving hidden messages. Crayons and color pencils are the worst: Perseus tries using oil pastels once and since they're so hard to wash away, they both end up sporting orange-and-purple stained wrists for a while.

Annabeth, being the (self-proclaimed) intellectual she is, tries to measure the time between sending and receiving a message, while Perseus just makes various elaborate doodles. She always knows when he's writing something, because there's a small tingle that runs up and down the affected area like an electric current. He talks a lot, so much so that she's started carrying a little cloth with her everywhere, to rub off the paragraphs he writes to make room for more. He says that his stepdad hasn't let him buy a phone, even though he goes to boarding school, where public phone privileges are limited. He doesn't really say, but something suggests to her that he doesn't have a lot of friends, either. She gets that. Besides, having a secret pen pal is kind of fun, and she doesn't mind waking up to a whole page worth of writing going up and down her arm. He's got a lot of fun stories from boarding school.

She's the responsible one, and tries to set up a few ground rules. Stuff like not drawing mustaches on her when she's in school (which he did once), or writing rude words on her forehead (which he did twice), or retaliating with even worse insults (which Annabeth did once, to disastrous results). Rule One, the Holy Rule: No asking for help on tests.

WHY? Perseus had written when she first told him. WHY?

It gives you an unfair advantage, she says wisely.

but Beth, you're such a Wise Girl — something he's been calling her since he found out she was a straight-A student — what's the point if I don't take advantage of all your knowledge?

You can ask me anything you want, she replies. Just not during an exam.

cheater.

I'm trying to stop you from becoming one!

Fine, he grumbles. I'll play fair.

Then, two days later, while she's eating breakfast — Hey, say there are two trains: one, traveling 70 miles per hour, leaves Westford heading toward Eastford, 260 miles away. At the same time the second train, traveling 60 mph, leaves Eastford heading toward Westford. When do the two trains meet? The words take up half her arm, ending in tiny print on her index finger. A minute later, he adds, as though a last-ditch effort to convince her that he's not trying to cheat: Just asking.

You're in the middle of a pop quiz, aren't you.

No, he says a minute later. Of course not.

Liar.

A long pause, as though he's being careful to not be seen. PLEASE HELP ME I NEED TO PASS I HATE THIS STUPID SUBJECT

MAYBE IF YOU LISTENED IN CLASS ONCE IN A WHILE YOU WOULDNT BE HAVING THIS PROBLEM IN THE FIRST PLACE

PLEASE BETH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BETH PLEASE

NO

PLEASE

NO WHAT IF SOMEONE SEES YOU? WHAT IF tHE TEACHER SEES YOU?

DONT worRY ABOUT THAT STUFF I'LL BE FINE

IF YOU GET CAUGHT, YOU'LL BE IN DETENTION FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! Annabeth's never been in detention, unless you count the time she was given a severe talking-to by the principal for constantly correcting one of her teachers during class.

SO?

YOU DON'T MIND GETTING DETENTION?

I DONT CARE PLEASE HELP ME JUST ONE QUESTION

NO

AND YOU CALL YOURSELF MY SOULMATE

GOODBYE I HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL

FINE I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP BYE

Ten minutes later, he gives up entirely. please give me a hint Beth please just a small one just this question i swear i studied for this test pleassee? pretty please?

fine, she relents. a teeny hint. and that's it.

Yes please!

Use the distance formula

I KNEW THAT MYSELF HOW IS THAT A HINT

USE IT

I HOPE YOU NEVER GET A JOB AS A CLUE-MAKER FOR TREASURE HUNTS, he scrawls in large letters on his palm. YOU'D BE TERRIBLE AT IT.

Is that even a job?

Dunno. It'd be cool, though.

She giggles into her hands, and her father asks, "Is that Perseus?"

"He's having trouble with math," Annabeth says. "He wants my help."

He laughs. "Tell him good luck."

She does, but he doesn't reply back until late that night — I got caught.

She snorts. Toldja.

I tried telling them you wouldn't even help me, but I got yelled at anyway. He makes a sad face with blue marker, even draws a few teardrops. They called home, too but my mom picked up, and she believed me. I'm just glad Gabe didn't find out. He'd kill me.

Good thing. You must be tired, though.

Yeah, I am. Night. Thanks for the hint, even though it was crap.

Night, she scribbles, aware that she is grinning at his words, aware of the warmth that spreads from her chest. It's weird. She's been talking to Perseus for a little over two years, now, they haven't even met in person, she doesn't even know what he looks like, beyond what he'd told her — black hair, green eyes, I've been told I look like a greek god (she hadn't believed that last one) — but she feels like she knows him better than most people in her school, people she's 'grown up' with.

She's learned that he's been living in New York all his life. He doesn't know who his real dad is, because he was supposedly the captain of a ship and was lost at sea before he was born. His mother has remarried, and he loathes the new guy with every fiber of his being. His stepfather, he says, is the kind who gambles away all the money his mother works so hard to earn, and drinks with his buddies all night.

Why'd your mom marry him, then? Annabeth asks.

She wanted me to have a real father, Perseus replies after a while. I mean, Gabe wasn't so bad in the beginning. It's only recently that he's turned into a total douche.

Good thing you're in boarding school.

Yeah, but...it's my mom I'm worried about. She can tell he's worried, because there's a slight pressure on her arm where he must be pressing the pen against his wrist. I don't know what happens to her when I'm at school.

She kind of shudders. Move back when you're older.

She seems almost scared of him, he confides to her once. I mean, I am, too, but once he kind of lifted his arm, and she flinched. She has a soulmark, too. Not like ours. She's got the kind with her enemy's name on one hand, and her soulmate's name on the other. My dad's name was on one hand, and I think he was her soulmate. She usually hides the names with makeup. If Gabe sees...

Drive him the hell out of there, Perseus. Call the cops.

I'll talk to her after I go back, he promises.

A week later, Annabeth sees a large purplish mark blossom over her ribcage. It hurts a little when she presses it. A bruise, she realizes, and immediately jots down a message on her palm: Are you okay?

I'm fine.

You're clearly not. What is this? What happened?

drop it, Beth.

The clear rejection in his words should hurt her, but it only makes her more worried. Perseus, please.

It's over two hours before she gets a response. Gabe heard me talking to my mom. About leaving him. About how I could take care of us. Annabeth can't see him, obviously, but she imagines a boy, bent over in pain, laughing a little sadly, a little sarcastically at the next words he writes: He showed me I couldn't take care of anything.

Her fingers skim over the bruise again. If she's feeling pain on her side, he must be experiencing thrice hers. It makes her chest ache.

Downstairs, her parents are arguing again. They've been fighting a lot these days, she's noticed. First about their extended family, then about their jobs, then about money (or the lack of it), then about...well. Just about anything. Annabeth usually crawls under the covers and listens to music to drown out the yelling. She's asked her parents if everything was okay. The first time, her mother had assured her that everything would turn out fine. The last time, she hadn't answered at all. Annabeth hasn't asked since.

I'm sorry, Perseus.

Me too, he says. Are things better over there?

She switches off the music. Her father is yelling something about how his job is important to him, alright, at least he doesn't disappear for weeks on end doing god knows what with god knows who —

With trembling fingers, she turns on the music, grabs the marker. Still fighting.

The music isn't helping?

Not so much anymore.

Wanna play some tic tac toe? He draws a little board on the back of their hands.

She rubs it away. No thanks.

Don't worry, Beth. It'll work out.

I don't think so. You can't hear them. She can, again, now. Their voices rise above Taylor Swift's soft melody. So much for meant for each other.

I wonder, he says, what's the point of soulmates if it's all going to go to shit anyway?

Annabeth is about to respond when, downstairs, there comes a crash, then more screaming. She puts down the marker, then slowly opens the door; once it is open, the music does nothing to help veil the screaming.

"You know what?" her mother says. "I'm done. You said nothing would change if I disappeared? I'll help you prove it."

She peers down the stairs. Her mother is crossing the hallway, picking up her handbag that lies on the couch.

"Mom?" she whispers. Her mother does not hear.

The older woman looks at her father one last time. "I'm sorry it's come to this, Frederick."

Her father doesn't say anything, doesn't move. He jerks his head a little as her mother slams the front door behind her, then sits down heavily at the dining table, breathing hard.

"Mom," Annabeth says, louder, more insistently. She pads down the stairs. "Dad? Mom's...coming back, right?" No response.

Tears fill her eyes and drip down her cheeks. "Mom. Mom. Mom —"

"Stop it, Annabeth," her father snaps, standing up. His glasses are askew, his blond hair, the same shade as hers, standing up on end. "She left us, she left us, she's not coming back."

"Why won't she come back?" Annabeth sobs, "she didn't even say goodbye —"

"She left us," he repeats. His voice is harsh. "Do you understand me, Annabeth? She left us. Both of us."

"Bu-but—" Her tears don't stop, not even when he crouches next to her, ruffling her hair. The gesture doesn't feel the same, somehow. "But Dad, you were soulmates!"

Her father is looking at the closed door, at the rows of high heels his wife has left behind. His fingers reach up to touch his soulmark, etched into the back of his neck. The owl with the glasses. The mark that meant that Annabeth's parents were meant to be together, forever.

"Soulmates," her father says, in a voice that is sounds calm, but she can hear it quiver when she listens hard enough. "Soulmates are...the universe trying to organize us all into neat little boxes, like we don't have the right to choose who we want to be happy with. They're illogical. Fake. It's a romantic notion, is all. Having these-these cursed marks ends up defining you, makes you believe you were chosen for someone else, but more often than not, these days, they lead to...this." He points a shaking hand at the closed door. "Soulmates mean nothing."

She is silent as she climbs back into bed. Her father is cursing and crying downstairs as he fills her mother's suitcases will all her things. The computer in her room is still blaring Wake me Up When September Ends, and Annabeth wishes the lyrics were true.

She sees Perseus's messy handwriting still etched into her right arm. What's the point of soulmates if it's all going to go to shit anyway?

I don't know, she writes in response. Then, steeling her mind: Perseus...I might not talk to you for a while.

She glances at the clock. It is ten at night. New York's time is three hours ahead. He is probably sleeping, and won't see her message for a while. She takes this chance to explain everything: the final fight, her mother leaving, and, finally, her father's words, spoken with so much bitterness and hate, and how she can't seem to forget what he'd said. She doesn't want things to turn out that way for her. For them. Maybe, she writes, as tears sting her eyes, maybe soulmates don't work at all. It certainly didn't for your parents, and mine, too.

The last words she write are with a shaky hand. This is the last time, she thinks, putting her pen down with something like grave finality and staring at the words.

I'm sorry.

/

She should've figured it would be a long day the moment the black-haired guy darted into the elevator just as the doors were closing, holding three cartons of beer and a flower crown.

"Thanks for holding the doors," he gasps as the elevator shuts behind him. He drops two of the boxes — the bottles of beer clink dangerously against each other as he does so — and pushes the flower crown onto his head like he doesn't give a shit.

"No problem," she lies smoothly. Because, in fact, she hadn't been holding the doors open for him at all: she'd entered the elevator and seen him barreling through the lobby, with windswept hair, untied shoelaces, madness in his green eyes, and carrying more luggage than seemed necessary; she'd figured she'd be far safer away from him and had been frantically pressing the close doors button as fast as she could.

Not fast enough.

He sighs, leaning against the walls and shutting his eyes. He looks around her age — eighteen or nineteen — and, with the flower crown tangled in his dark hair, he looks like he's cosplaying a woodland nymph or something of the sort — a weird, modern one, at that. She waits for a minute, and the lift begins to rise: she's about to ask him which floor he's planning to go to when his eyes fly open again and he leans forward to press the button that says 7, only she's already pressed it.

"Oh," he says. "Either you're psychic or you're going to Jason's party, too." He eyes the bags in her hands, which are full of food. "Ah. I'm guessing party."

"Yep," she says.

"You in Jason's MicroEcon class or something? I haven't seen you around campus," he says, adjusting the flower crown.

"I go to Columbia, with Piper," Annabeth says. "I'm her roommate and she's kind of forcing me to come for this thing."

"Oh, nice," he says, eyes widening a little. "Piper's mentioned you a couple of times. You the architecture major?"

"Yeah, that's me." Annabeth finds herself sincerely hoping that Piper hadn't gone any further with her description.

"I'm Jason's roommate," says Elevator Guy. "So, like, basically, we both live with, like, the most annoyingly blatant PDA couple in the galaxy. We must have tons in common."

She can't help smiling. "They never hang up the phone, do they?"

"I think I did it for them once."

"And when they sleep over," she groans. "Ugh. Mornings are the worst."

"No," he grimaces, "the worst is when you get home after five hours of nonstop swim practice, trudging home with chlorine in your ears and hoping to take a warm shower, only to find it...occupied."

"Jesus," she snorts. "I'm glad Piper's never run that wild at our place."

"You must run a tight ship," he says, impressed. "I should definitely have a no-sex-in-the-showers rule." He pauses. "Although, after that little incident, I tried giving them the silent treatment. It worked for, like, an hour, and then they started talking about how I make the best pancakes in the world—"

"I can't believe you caved in so easily," she snorts.

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for compliments."

The doors ding open on the seventh floor and Annabeth and Elevator Guy walk out. She sets the bags down on the floor with a sigh, and he hefts his box of beer over his shoulder, using his free arm to pat his hair down.

"Um," she says, "you left the other two boxes in the elevator."

"Shit fuck!" he yells, whirling around, only to be greeted with closed doors. Thrusting the third box into her (already full) arms and darting down the stairs, he screams "Be right back!" and runs away.

She glances back to see a wisp of raven hair disappear down the stairs and she staggers to Jason's apartment, pressing her elbow against the doorbell.

There's a loud whoop as the door opens and everyone close by notices that she comes bearing gifts — Leo grabs the nachos and screeches, "Who wants Uncle Leo's improvised mini tacos?" Everyone cheers.

"Annabethhh!" screams Piper, who already looks a little tipsy, "I want you to meet someone! Come, come —" She grabs her hand and leads Annabeth through the crowd, from room to room, peering hopefully inside every one. Annabeth tries to free herself from Piper's grip, but even slightly drunk, her friend is still strong.

"He's not here," Piper finally says, dejection in her voice, as the front door opens again and there's another cheer: it must be Elevator Guy, back with the rest of the drinks.

Luckily, Piper walks off to find Jason and drink some more, leaving Annabeth alone. She finds Rachel and Reyna and settles down next to them, and they begin to talk. Even though she isn't in the same university as Jason, most of the people crammed into the teeny apartment are familiar: she sees Frank and Hazel giggling over their drinks, Will spinning around the hallway like he's the life of the party, and, as though making sure his boyfriend doesn't dive headfirst out the nearest window, Nico following close behind.

Rachel and Reyna are good friends and fun to talk to: Rachel's always got a lot of great stories to tell and Reyna, like her, isn't much of a dancer, and the two of them have a good time judging everyone's drunken steps.

Around one in the morning is when everyone in the apartment is varying levels of drunk and is either leaving or making out with someone in a corner, something they'll probably regret doing once the alcohol is out of their systems. Annabeth isn't a huge drinker and the amount she's had tonight isn't even enough to make her tipsy. She's fairly good at holding her liquor, too, so there's no danger of getting into any sort of trouble on the way home. She'd really like to leave, too — she's got early classes tomorrow — but she can see Piper in the kitchen, laughing as she mixes drinks, clearly brewing something stronger than beer that she will, a hundred percent, attempt to shove down Annabeth's throat.

Rachel's drunk as well, talking to one of the Stoll brothers and painting a crude replica of the Mona Lisa on the wall, fingers stained red with the salsa Leo had made. Reyna had gotten the hell out of there a half-hour ago. Annabeth knows she's got to stay to haul Piper's drunken ass home; feeling weary and longing for some fresh air, she makes her way to the balcony, where she figures the cold air on her face will keep her alert.

Only the balcony is occupied: there is someone sitting on the fire escape, scrolling through his phone, and, with a start, Annabeth sees that it is Elevator Guy, wearing a thin black hoodie, and, when he looks up, a smile.

"So we meet again," he greets, scooting a little to give her room to sit next to him. "Guess it got a bit much in there, huh?"

"One more minute and Leo would've stripped and coated himself in cheese dip," Annabeth informs him, clambering up gratefully to sit by his side. There is something deliciously comforting in the contrast between the cold night breeze and the warmth radiating from his skin.

He laughs, the kind of honest, carefree, throw-your-head-back kind of laugh. "Poor guy is a goner," he chuckles, nodding at an open window, where she gets a clear view of Leo doing some kind of crazy chicken dance next to Drew and Silena. Silena only laughs and dances gracefully out of his range; Drew completely ignores him, sniffing haughtily and walking away, hips swaying. Wrong move: Leo only looks more entranced.

"Oh, man, he thinks she's playing hard to get," Annabeth says. "Only she's actually playing impossible to get, and she actually really means it."

He snorts. "Drew used Attract. It's super effective."

She grins, watching as Leo attempts to follow her, but tripping over Frank. "He hit himself in confusion."

Elevator Guy laughs aloud again, nearly spilling the drink in his hand. "God, I'd feel bad for the guy, but he flirts with anything even vaguely female."

"The first time he tried hitting on me, I think I glared at him so hard that I broke him," Annabeth recalls. "Killed his confidence for a while."

He hums thoughtfully. "I'd have liked to see that."

She raises an eyebrow, and he rushes to explain — "No, I meant the glaring part, not the him-hitting-on-you part. You seem like the kind of person who won't take shit from anyone."

Pacified, she shrugs, gazing around them as the music blares from inside the house. The New York skyline is beautiful in the dark.

"Oh, aaaaand...he's gone," he mumbles beside her, and Annabeth peers through the window to see Leo finally collapse onto a cushion while singing Wrecking Ball and go still.

The party has died almost entirely: Jason, who doesn't look all that drunk, is cleaning up the place with Grover and Nico, while Piper stumbles around, hugging a pillow to her chest, calling someone's name over and over above the beat of the music.

"Oh." Annabeth sits up abruptly when she realizes her flatmate has been yelling her name for the past five minutes; she tells Elevator Guy to wait for a second as she walks back inside. Piper pounces on her at once.

"Annabethhh!" she cries."Where have you beeeeen, I've been looking for you, there's someone you have to meet! Come, come —"

"Piper," Annabeth says, trying to wriggle free, "I think I should take you home now."

"You really should," Jason calls.

Piper pouts, curling her fingers around Annabeth's wrist. Annabeth can see the other girl's soulmark circling her wrist, black letters etched into her bronze skin: the first words Jason had ever spoken to her. "But you have to meet this guy, he's cute! Well, not as cute as Jason, but cute! And really nice and funny! He's not my type, but —"

"Contrary to popular belief," Annabeth says, as Piper drags her into one room after another, looking around with half-lidded eyes, "me being single is not the end of the world."

"Annabethhhhh," Piper whines. "He's your tyyyype—"

"Piper, I'm sorry, but you don't have a clue what my type is," Annabeth says. "And, quite frankly, neither do I."

Piper, who has evidently not been listening to a word, thankfully can't seem to find the mystery guy, and has loosened her grip on Annabeth, who is contemplating running away when Piper squawks in excitement and pushes Annabeth roughly into the kitchen, where Jason is talking to Nico, Grover, and Elevator Guy.

"This is him," Piper says, in a whisper so loud that all four of them turn. Nico and Grover say goodbye and leave; Annabeth feels heat climb to her face.

"Hey again." Elevator Guy sounds amused. His eyes are even prettier in the bright light, and she notices that he's still wearing the flower crown. He turns his gaze to Piper. "You're drunk."

"Hey," Annabeth responds.

"Your face is drunk," Piper counters. Then she pouts at Annabeth. "Wait, you've met? Why didn't you say something?"

"Pipes," says Jason patiently, "you didn't give her much of a chance."

"Not like I knew who the hell you were talking about, either," Annabeth grumbles.

"But..." Piper leans forward, then back, then forward again, tilting dangerously on her toes. "But..." She never gets to complete the sentence: she leans against Annabeth and closes her eyes with a small "Mmmm."

"Jeez." Jason brushes a strand of hair from his girlfriend's forehead, half-exasperated, half-fond. "I'll help you get her home. I'll get her bag, one sec." He disappears into his room.

"Uh. What did she mean when she said 'this is him'?" Elevator Guys asks.

"You know Piper," Annabeth says embarrassed. "She probably wanted to set us up, or something."

He rolls his eyes. "That definitely sounds like her."

"Funny how we ended up meeting anyway," she remarks, allowing Jason to sling Piper's bag across her shoulder. "Nice meeting you."

"Likewise," he says, smiling, ignoring the way Jason is glancing back and forth between the two of them curiously. "Uh, though, I didn't catch your name."

Annabeth feels like she might collapse under Piper's weight, but she manages to say "Annabeth Chase," and hold out her hand.

He shakes it. "Percy Jackson."

/

Over the next few weeks, Annabeth ends up bumping into Percy...a lot.

The first few times it's an accident, okay. They see each other in the most random places: standing in the queue at the cafe opposite her university, the grocery store, the car wash, even the library on Fifth, which is nowhere close to either of their apartments (he later tells her he'd stopped at the library to pee after visiting his mom). Which either means they're both stalking each other (and doing a terrible job of it), or it's fate. She'd been betting on the former until that one time when Percy exited the ATM she'd been standing outside of, gasped, pointed and her, and yelled, "Fate!"

Percy, as it turns out, knows most of Annabeth's classmates from university from high school, and so they've got so many mutual friends that it is, quite honestly, a wonder that it took them so long to meet. He's studying majoring in Marine Biology at NYU, but he's on a swimming scholarship, and is on the basketball team with Jason. His practices are often held in the morning, so they often bump into each other then, too.

It's. Just. Now it's practically routine for Percy to buy her a latte — vanilla with a little cinnamon, the way they both like it — every morning on the way to college. It's routine for them to camp out at each other's apartments when Piper and Jason have date nights. Sometimes she'll end up at his place, where she'll hound him to finish all his pending assignments, even though he complains that "They're due in two months, Annabeth, gosh," and sometimes he'll come to her house with all the work he hasn't finished and a bag of Chinese food, and they stay up late watching Lord of the Rings with Grover and Juniper.

Like literally, it's so far past a crush now that Annabeth doesn't even have time to look back.

It's dumb, it's so dumb. They've been friends for a little over six months, now, and she's grown so used to Percy's company that it's hard to remember how she used to spend her time before. Because now he's occupying all of her free time, with hours and hours of conversation that might seem meaningless but it's not. Their talks are filled with easy humor, effortless banter. They argue a lot, too, but that's okay. She likes a good debate.

Percy is so passive-aggressive that it hurts, oozes sarcasm from his fingertips; he's easily able to keep up with her dry one-liners and reply with a few choice ones in return.

Worst of all is the touching. She'd noticed from the very beginning that Percy is an extremely affectionate person: he greets most people with a hug and his stupid crooked smile, but there days, with her...she's fairly certain he's almost teasing her, which is a whole new kind of illegal. He's taken to slinging a casual arm around her shoulder whenever they watch movies together. He bumps her shoulder when she says something sarcastically (which is, like, always), brushes the dust from her hair on the way to university in the mornings, and, once, accidentally (or so he says) tangles his feet in hers under the table during dinner.

"Sorry," he'd said. "Was trying to kick Jason."

"No problem," she'd replied.

Neither of them had moved all through the meal; it had taken all her strength to keep a blank face.

Piper has watched their friendship blossom with a kind of smug, knowing smile that pisses Annabeth off; she looks like a master villain watching their final plan unfold. She goes out of her way to leave them alone, explicitly calls their dinners double dates before taking it back with a very fake "Oops," and she keeps sending Annabeth over to Percy and Jason's with very odd requests, like "I need half a lemon," or "Jason borrowed my shampoo, could you get it back?" when she knows Jason has class and Percy doesn't. It's clear, though, that she's planning some kind of huge finale, but Annabeth isn't sure of its nature until the other girl drops down next to her on the couch and goes, "So...next week is Percy's birthday."

"August eighteenth," Annabeth remembers. "Is it a Friday? Because I've got that internship —"

"We're planning a surprise party for him," Piper continues, undeterred. "You'll be able to make it, right?"

Annabeth is scrolling through the calendar on her phone, her mouth open, ready to say "Yeah," but then she sees Wednesday under August 18 and what comes out as a whisper under her breath is a No.

"No?" Piper says, looking stricken. "What? Why not?"

"It's the internship I'm doing," Annabeth explains, feeling horrible. "I've got that fundraiser on the eighteenth. Shit, my boss said it was on Wednesday, but I didn't think — I thought — shit."

"Can't you miss it,or something — " Piper begins, but then she stops, because she knows how hard Annabeth has worked for this. "Don't worry about it," she says instead, placing a hand on Annabeth's arm. This is one of the best things about her: she can be crazy and really nosy at times, but she gets it. She's never judgmental, never biased, and always keeps a fair view of things.

"I'll try to get out of it early," Annabeth says. "And I'll get him a present."

"I hope it's the gift of love," Piper grunts, rising and taking off her coat. She laughs at the face Annabeth makes at her before shutting the door to her room.

Annabeth tries all night to think of a present, but it's easier said than done, and when there are only four days until the eighteenth, she begins to really panic. "I don't know what to get him."

"The best gifts," says Piper serenely, "are those that come from the heart."

Annabeth blinks. "So...should I make him a card, or something?"

"A present by your hand will be the best in all the land," Piper hums.

"Then why'd you buy that million dollar watch for Jason on his birthday?" Annabeth replies irritably. "Also, when'd you turn into a freaking bard?" Piper sticks her tongue out at her.

It's only later that evening when Annabeth recalls Piper's words and decides that all of it hadn't been total bullshit. She whips out her phone and sends a message to Rachel, whom she knows is good at baking.

[From: Annabeth 7:27 PM]

rach i need to use your oven

[From: Rachel 8:03 PM]

sure but why tho

[From: Annabeth 8:10 PM]

i need to bake cupcakes. and you need to teach me.

[From: Rachel 8:11 PM]

LMFAO i have two days before i go to LA for the art show. i'll teach you all i know and leave the keys of my apartment to practice. sound good?

[From: Annabeth 8:13 PM]

YOU GODDESS

[From: Rachel 8:16 PM]

ikr please spread the word

[From: Rachel 8:18 PM]

tomorrow 10am

/

The morning of August 18 dawns fresh and sunny; Annabeth texts Percy a Happy Birthday! which feels crappy and impersonal, which she hates, right before she leaves to Rachel's place, where she makes the batter the way Rachel taught her and leaves it in the cupcake tins to settle. Luckily, Rachel's apartment isn't too far from the workplace, so Annabeth grabs her files and slips into an uncomfortable dress before placing the cupcakes in the oven on, like, the lowest heat possible, and setting a timer on her phone.

The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur: her boss at Cannon Designs seems to have finally pulled her head out of her ass and acknowledges Annabeth for all her hard work by introducing her to a bunch of her bigshot clients at Perkins Eastman, Ennead Architects, and other prominent architecture firms based in the city. Which she deserves, okay? She's been working extra hours, has come in early, has fetched everyone in the office coffee, has even given up on her free weekends.

It's nearly eleven PM when Annabeth is finally given the nod to leave, and so she staggers to Rachel's apartment as fast as her poor screaming feet can take her — borrowing Piper's too-tight heels had been a goddamn terrible idea — and smells smoke the moment she wrenches open the door. The timer for the cupcakes to come out of the oven had gone off three hours ago.

Her heart sinks; the oven blares when she opens it and, coughing as she bats away the smoke, she sees a dozen scorched little pastries sizzling inside.

"Ah, fuck." She uses an oven mitt to yank the tray out, feeling shitty as hell as she surveys the burnt surfaces, trying to look for something to salvage. The selfie that Piper sends her, featuring her, Percy, and Grover pouting, with the caption Wish you were here! :'( does nothing to make her feel better.

It is 11:15. Desperate, Annabeth waits for the tray to cool, then overturns each cupcake out of its mold. Most are burnt to a crisp and taste god-awful, but she manages to find one that's a little moist and still a little chocolatey. She cuts away the burnt parts, pipes blue icing over the top and adds a handful a sprinkles in an attempt to make it look somewhat respectable, and bolts to Percy's apartment.

Wheezing, thinking that she should start working out again and definitely wondering why she hadn't ditched the heels at Rachel's place, Annabeth hurries down the road with the cupcake burning her palm. She sees Piper and Jason on the other side of the road — he must be dropping her to their apartment. Since they've got college tomorrow, and Jason and Percy have practice, too, she realizes most people would've left early, so there might be a good chance of catching Percy alone. She walks faster.

She meets Grover at the foot of the stairs, who gives her a relieved smile and tells her to "Go on up," so she flies up the stairs; by the time she knocks on the door, she is completely out of breath and probably looks like crap, too.

Percy opens the door, and his face brightens when he sees her. "Annabeth!"

She holds out the crumbling excuse for a cupcake. Her phone says that it's 11:41, August 18. She's made it in time, just barely. "Happy birthday."

He lets her inside, and she collapses, with a sigh, at the dining table. He sits across from her and places the cupcake on a coaster.

"Piper said you had a thing, which is why you weren't there," he says. "We missed you."

"I thought I'd be able to make it," she apologizes. "Did the surprise work?"

"Yeah," Percy grins. "Although I was late from practice, so Leo actually fell asleep behind the curtains, and when everyone yelled surprise, he fell out, screaming."

Annabeth snorts. "God, I wish I'd seen that. Sorry I couldn't come. I really wanted to."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Eh, it's cool. Jason sent everyone home early anyway because we have basketball practice at five and he doesn't want us waking up hungover and getting ourselves kicked off the team." He smiles at her crookedly. "But I'm glad you made it."

Something warm and soothing envelops her, like a soft blanket. "I wouldn't miss it." She retrieves a single candle from her purse, sticks it into the cupcake, and then lights it with a discarded lighter she finds under the couch. "Make a wish."

He rolls his eyes at her, like don't you think I'm too old for this? but then blows out the candle. He touches the pastry gingerly, like he's afraid it'll fall apart (and it really might). "Did you make it yourself?"

"Yes," she says, abashed; it's well-known that she's a terrible cook. She's even managed to burn instant noodles, to Piper's horror ("All you gotta do it stick 'em in hot water, how did you manage to screw that up?").

"But don't worry,"she reassures him. "It tastes better than it looks. I hope."

"It looks like a chocolate brick," he observes. "With blue cement."

"Eat the damn thing," she snaps.

He laughs, then pops a bit of cake into his mouth. "Hey, you were right. This is about a million times better than your pancakes."

"Shut it." She takes a little piece, too; the pastry is soft and miraculously a little moist. It's a little too sweet, and she can still make out the smoke laced through it, but it'll do. "I kinda like it."

He dips a finger in the icing. "Me, too. You didn't have to, though." He is smiling now, one that's a little softer than his usual crooked one, and it causes annoying little butterflies to spring to life in her gut. Damn it.

"Of course I did," she protests. "You're one of my best friends. I couldn't just not do anything, especially after missing your party." She looks down quickly at the ground, aware that he is staring at her.

Her phone buzzes, and the screen lights up. It's ten minutes to midnight, and Jason will be home soon.

"You've got to get rest," she decides, rising. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. With a better cake."

He follows her to the door. "This one was good enough. Best thing I've eaten all day, I swear." There is something heart-achingly genuine in his voice.

"Don't," she laughs, putting her heels on again — the top of her head reaches his nose, now — and leaning forward to give him a hug. His arms tighten around her, and, for a minute, she is surrounded by his gradually overwhelming warmth.

"Thank you," he says.

"It was nothing, honestly."

She pulls away, but he keeps a hold of her hand. "Hey. Annabeth." He sounds a little nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna know what I wished for?"

"It's probably a lifetime supply of blue jellybeans, or something even worse, like free tickets to SeaWorld, so no," she says drily. He snorts, and her curls lift up a little when he exhales, which is when it hits her just how close he is. Her throat instantly goes bone-dry.

It is weird how, a minute ago, she'd been tired enough to faint, but now, her body is tingling so violently that it's only when she sees Percy's fingers near her cheek that she realizes he's kind of framing her face in his hands. Her heart feels just about on the verge of total failure.

"Nope, not that," he says, his voice catching a little. His nose is almost touching hers. She can see dim freckles splattered across his cheeks, feel his hair tickle her forehead. A small indent appears in his left cheek when he smiles, indecently distracting in how innocent it makes him look. What the fuck. He has a freaking dimple. Annabeth is screwed.

"Annabeth," he breathes, "can I kiss you?"

And, because she's doomed to be snarky until the bitter end, she goes, "By all means, but you should know that that's a pretty shit wish," right before his lips crash onto hers with enough heat to melt her bones.

He evidently hears her last comment, because his lips curve into a wide smile that she feels against her own mouth, which should be weird and awkward but isn't. He tastes like coffee and sprinkles and burnt cupcake. It feels earthshaking, mindblowing, spine-shattering. It feels wonderful.

/

After that, there's a lot of kissing.

They both agree to tell Jason and Piper together, so a lot of their kisses are in secret, which gives their relationship a very wild, adventurous air. It's crazy, but she kind of likes it. Something about not being able to kiss Annabeth in front of their best friends triggers something in Percy, too, so the moment Jason and Piper are out of the room, he's all over her, and — well, she's not complaining.

"We'll tell them when the time is right," Percy promises, but then August moves into September, and September into October, and it's nearly November when Annabeth finally decides that it's getting a little ridiculous.

"We should tell them," Annabeth says, gazing at Percy from across the sofa. "Like, really."

He leans in. "Okay."

"I mean it." She dodges his lips, grabs a hold of his face with both hands. "I feel terrible sneaking around them like this."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Okay, and I'll just pretend that you don't have a huge kink for this secret stuff."

"It's not a kink, Percy. God."

"Okay, we'll tell them the moment they're back from the movie," he promises, squeezing her hand, and then releasing it. "I'm late to meet Grover. See you tonight."

"Bye," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut unconsciously as his lips touch her forehead; she opens them again when the door shuts behind him.

She heads to Percy and Jason's later in the evening, rehearsing a speech over and over again in her head, hoping Piper won't be too mad at her for not telling her about Percy. She's so lost in her own thoughts, of the Piper in her head screaming at her for being a shitty friend, that she starts when the real Piper pats her lightly on the shoulder.

"Annabeth! Timing," Piper grins. "I was hoping you'd be here. I've — we've, I mean, Jason and I — we've got something to tell you. And Percy."

This only makes her feel guiltier. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Piper grins as they both step into the elevator. "Percy's home, right?"

"He texted saying that he was back an hour ago," Annabeth says.

"Good. Good." The other girl looks quickly at her, then away. "You two seem really close these days. You're practically attached at the hip—"

And Annabeth's fucking traitor mouth literally opens by itself and she hears herself replying in a mutter, "More like attached at the lip," and it's too late by the time her hands clap over her lips in pure and absolute horror at the betrayal.

Piper is so silent that, for a wonderful moment, Annabeth thinks she hadn't heard; then she screeches, "What?"

"I—" Annabeth blabbers, "I—"

"What?" Piper shrieks, as the doors open, "What! What!" She doesn't even wait for Annabeth, running out of the elevator, pounding on the closed apartment door with her fist, and nearly punching her boyfriend in the face when he answers it. Percy is sitting on the arm of the sofa in front of the TV, playing FIFA 16.

"You!" Piper yells. Percy, who'd been immersed in the game, screams and topples. Unperturbed, Piper points at Annabeth. "You!" She turns to Jason. "Did you know?"

Percy picks himself off the floor, and shoots Annabeth a what in the world? look. Annabeth informs him, "She knows."

"Huh. Well, okay then," he says, looking back at the screen. "Does this mean I can kiss you in public now?"

Piper looks like she's going to faint. "Jason, look!"

"I feel like an exhibit at the museum," Percy remarks.

"I see them," Jason says. "It's great."

Something in the way he says it calms Piper down. She tears her eyes away from Annabeth, who's picking popcorn out of Percy's hair with a grimace, and turns to him. "You knew."

"I did," says Jason, wincing.

"Dude, you said you'd act surprised," Percy groans.

"What?" Annabeth flicks his hair. "I thought you said we'd tell them together—"

"I can't believe there is a together," Piper whimpers. "I'd almost given up—"

Percy ignores her. "Yeah, I know, but after we kissed: the first time, I mean — the next day, Jason just kinda looked at me, and he was like, 'You kissed,' and I was like, "Uhhhh," and he was like, 'Cool,' and I was like, 'Yeah.' I must've been really obvious."

"You were lit up like a Christmas tree," Jason supplies. "But not like in The Fault in Our Stars, where Augustus lights up like a Christmas tree, and then he dies."

"I'm lighting up like Augustus just listening to this," Annabeth says. Percy snorts.

"Oh my god," Piper yelps suddenly, as though struck by a great revelation. She glares at Annabeth. "Is that why you've been wearing blue a lot more often these days?"

Percy discards the game controller and places a hand over his heart. "That was for me?"

"It was not," Annabeth protests. Which is a lie, because she'd figured out very early on that Percy couldn't seem to keep his hands off her whenever she dressed in blues of any kinds — pale blue, cobalt, even navy. "It was a coincidence."

Piper looks like she's battling emotions of extreme joy and extreme frustration, and settles on vocalizing both. "I hate how happy I am."

"We wanted to tell you sooner, honest," Percy says.

"For so long," Annabeth agrees.

Piper exhales. "It's fine. I get it. As long as I'm not the last to know."

Percy and Annabeth exchange a fleeting glance, which Piper doesn't catch, thankfully, but Jason, the idiot traitor that he is, pipes up, "Well..."

"Oh god." Piper places a hand over her forehead. "I am the last to know."

"Leo caught us—" Annabeth begins.

"He caught you?" Piper asks. "What are you, rabbits?"

"They're gonna multiply like rabbits if they keep this up," Jason grins. Percy picks himself up from the ground and throws a cushion into his face.

"Leo caught us," she says again, "and everyone else know by the next morning. I'm actually pretty shocked you didn't know."

"Don't put this on me," Piper snaps.

"Ugh, Jason, why can't you keep your mouth shut," Percy grumbles, throwing another cushion.

"I don't keep secrets from Pipes," Jason says, dodging the cushion and moving to kiss his girlfriend.

"Oh yeah?" Percy challenges. "Does she know what really happened to the carton of granola bars she gave you last month to help with your workout diet—"

"Shut the fuck up, Percy—" —and Jason throws the cushion back at him, hitting him in the head with such force that he falls off the sofa again.

Piper blinks. "You mean they weren't eaten by a wild raccoon?"

"Of course they were," Jason says quickly. Percy snorts.

"Didn't you two have something to tell us?" Annabeth cuts in. Jason looks at her gratefully and mouths Thank you while Piper blinks ad shakes her head, as though coming out of a daze.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "Yeah. That." She shoots Jason a meaningful look, who nods, and then glares at Annabeth and Percy, who's now sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"And I'll have you know, you're the first people we're telling. Because we care about you."

"Not because your cooperation would be highly appreciated — and required, in fact — to ensure the actual success of the plan," Jason says brightly.

"You really have no filter, dude," Percy snickers.

Piper wrinkles her nose at Percy, then glares at Jason, who does the zipping-lips motion. Satisfied, Piper announces, "We want to move in together."

There's a beat of silence, and then Percy exclaims, "That's so cool!"

"Isn't it?" Piper gushes. Jason puts an arm around her.

"Congrats, you two," Annabeth smiles. Piper smiles back, holding Jason's hand so that the soulmarks over their wrists touch. Annabeth finds it kind of cute.

"It won't be immediately," Piper says. "This is...mostly just an idea right now. It'll probably take more than six months for us to finally actually start moving, and stuff. But it's definitely going to happen, and we wanted to give you two a heads-up. I mean, you're our roommates, but also our best friends, and we wanted you to know."

"That's great, man," Percy grins, and he and Jason clap hands in typical bro fashion while Piper throws her arms around Annabeth, sniffling. Piper detaches herself to go collapse onto Percy and kiss him on the cheek, and Annabeth hugs Jason, too.

"I'm so happy for you guys," she says sincerely. "You're great together; it's awesome that you're doing this."

Jason's cheeks are a little pink. "Yeah. We've been together since junior year of high school, and the other day, we were just like, Hey, why not?" He shrugs. "A lot of people might just see us as just another pair of soulmates moving into things too fast, but I — we — really don't care."

"Good for you, man," Percy says. Piper is sniffling into his shoulder, mumbling about how she's going to miss Percy's pasta and special banana waffles; Percy pats her on the head. "C'mon, Piper, it's not like we're gonna disappear."

Jason, looking relieved that it's now off his chest, checks his watch. "Pipes, we've got to meet Thalia in twenty minutes." He glances at the two of them. "You want to join us, or—?"

Piper claps her hands. "Yes! Our first real double date!"

"Gonna pass," says Percy. "I've got a million assignments to do."

Annabeth scoots off the couch to join him on the floor. "I'll make sure he actually finishes them."

"Aww," Piper coos, and she waves at them as she pushes Jason out the door. Jason calls, "Be good, sweet children," and Percy flips him off in response.

When they are gone, Percy frowns at the papers on the table, then turns to Annabeth. "Nice that they're doing this, huh?"

"It's cute," she agrees.

He leans in to kiss her, but she points at the pile of work on the table, and he stops, lips still puckered.

"Go," she says.

"Ten minutes."

"No."

"Five."

"Percy, if you'd just done those papers two weeks ago, when I told you to—"

"Two minutes?" he presses.

His green eyes go all large and pleading; she relents. "Fine."

He grins, lifts an arm; Annabeth shits to his side, and they slot against each other perfectly. She hadn't noticed it before, and it makes her feel all tingly.

Two minutes pass quickly, and Percy, after looking at her cautiously, grabs the remote and switches the TV on. He's flipping through channels when he looks at her and says, "You know what."

"Mmm?"

"Never mind," he says, looking away. "It's nothing."

"Tell me." She wriggles out of his arms to face him.

His green eyes are focused on the floor. "Kind of a crazy idea."

"How crazy?" she asks.

He sighs. "Well, Piper and Jason are moving in together. So what happens to us?"

"Well..." she pauses. "We'll have to find new roommates, I guess."

"Unless." He moistens his lips. "Unless...we moved in together."

She opens her mouth, then shuts it with a click.

"I know," he says, sounding terrified, "I know, I know it's only been two months, but they said it might take eight more to get things sorted out, right? So we'll have time, and-and if you think about it, we spend so much time at each other's apartments anyway." He pauses, gauging her reaction, and when he sees none, he deflates a little. "But it's a stupid idea. Never mind. It's only been two months, I-I don't wanna be stupid and rush into things and force you into this too fast, or—"

"Woah, woah," she says. "You aren't forcing me into anything." She presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I mean...yeah. It's...a big thing, but we'll have time to think about it."

"Yeah," he agrees, clearly relieved she isn't rejecting him outright. "Yeah."

"And," she says, "honestly? I wouldn't mind moving in with you at all. At one point."

"You're serious?" Percy beams, brighter than the sun in a cloudless sky. He launches forward and attacks her mouth, separating when she begins to laugh. He smirks, victorious, and proceeds to pepper her neck with kisses.

"Perce," she wheezes, squirming, "that tickles."

He takes mercy on her and pulls away, but grabs her hands and squeezes them in his. His ocean scent is stupidly intoxicating, and warmth courses through her body like a miniature heat wave. "I'm just really happy."

"Yeah," she says, pressing her head against his chest, "me too."

/

There are a lot of things Annabeth learns to get used to with Percy as her new flatmate. It's been a little over a year since Piper and Jason made their announcement to live together, and they've been living together for about a month when it occurs to her that she'd probably going to keep making little discoveries about him.

Discovery One: her boyfriend is a cuddler. The really clingy kind, too.

Even though Piper's old room is now technically his, they usually end up sleeping in the same bed — usually Annabeth's, because it's not covered in junk —because Percy insists that he "needs warmth to function." Sometimes he even screeches, "Dibs on the little spoon!" and it's hard to refuse, especially when he gets all sad and pouty about it. Annabeth is one of the only people who can resist the power of his stupidly large green eyes, but it's getting especially hard these days. But honestly? She kind of enjoys the feeling of waking up to Percy's arms wrapped around her midsection, with his seafoam scent clinging to the bedspread. His sleeping face is really cute, too, especially when it's pressed up into her shoulder.

Waking him up is almost a pity: he is much softer asleep, with his features settling into gentle furrows and his breathing deep and even. Sometimes he drools, but he doesn't believe her when she tells him.

Thing is, though, he won't let go. Annabeth is a frightfully early riser (he actually says that getting up that early is a sin) and she considers herself more of a morning person, getting most of her work done between one and eight A.M. Percy, on the other hand, likes to sleep until at least nine. Most of his classes start until later in the morning, so his habit of sleeping late would be no real problem if he didn't try to drag Annabeth down to his level.

"Five more minutes," he'd mumbled on one such occasion. The time was 10 in the morning, and he had class in half an hour. Annabeth had just gotten back from her first class and had come back to her room to grab a bunch of things she'd forgotten, only to see Percy bundled up on the bed, wrapped in blankets like a homeless kitten, or maybe a burrito.

"Percy, wake up."

"Two more minutes," he'd argued sleepily, and then — the nerve of him— he'd lifted the covers slightly and patted the empty space next to him with a clumsy hand; she'd given in to the temptation and had woken up four hours and thirteen minutes later, missing two of her classes and feeling a sense of both contentment and deep, deep shame.

"Best sleep of your life, I bet," he'd grinned at her later, throwing back his head in a cackle.

"Shut up," she snapped, even though he'd been right.

Discovery Two: Percy is a reader.

They have a few bookshelves in their apartment: most are stocked with their textbooks, but Annabeth's been trying to get back into reading these days, so there's a good mix of novels, too. Percy declares that he's not a reader and nothing will change his mind the moment he sees her hefting the large paperback of Atlas Shrugged, so she doesn't even try to convince him, at least until she wakes up one Sunday morning to find him bent over her copy of Little Women.

She actually stops right where she is, her toothbrush halfway to her mouth, just staring at Percy, who is turning a page of the book and taking a sip of his coffee. He glances at her when he sees her, grinning. "Do Jo and Laurie get together? I hope they get together. They're so cute. And he likes her, I can tell."

She snorts. "I thought you hated books."

"I was bored, okay," he says. "And I heard this one is good."

"It is," she replied. "Who's your favorite March child? Mine are Jo and Beth, but then Beth dies—"

"Ahhh!" he screams, covering his ears with his hands. "Stop! Stop! Are you crazy? I'm not that far yet, don't spoil it!"

"Okay, okay," she grins, holing up her arms in surrender. "Keep going."

"Do Jo and Laurie get together, though?"

"Keep reading."

Percy is a slow reader compared to her, but he reads thoroughly: Annabeth is the kind who simply tears through the pages on her first read and then rereads it again to fully grasp all the smaller details. Plus, Percy gets distracted while reading: he almost always ends up wandering to the kitchen and falling asleep with the half-read book in his lap. A lot of the time, too, he ends up picking another book before finishing the previous one and ends up mixing all the details. She's almost forgotten that Percy'd still been reading Little Women when, a week later, she hears yelling— "Oh my god, Jo says no? Is she nuts? No, no, nononono, they're so good together!"

"I'm sorry for your loss," she yawns.

"Love has died today," Percy informs her, collapsing next to her on the sofa, and dropping his head into her lap with a sigh. He lets out a long yawn; she lowers the remote to run her fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she says.

"Jo is so stupid," he sighs. "Beth's my new favorite now. Meg is boring and Amy is snobby as hell."

"Don't get too attached to Beth," she warns him.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

And three days later, while Annabeth is finishing her last assignment— "She's dead! Beth's dead!" Percy comes running into the room, his glasses pushed up on his forehead and wearing nothing but his blue boxers. "She's dead? Annabeth, she's dead!" He holds the book high over his head. "I hate this book. I hate this book. First Jo rejects Laurie, and then Laurie falls for Amy, of all people, and then Jo falls for stupid ol' Bhaer, and then Beth dies. I hate this book. I'm never reading books again. I knew this was a bad idea."

She gazes at him. His nose is wrinkled in distaste and his hair looks ridiculous, standing up on end like he's been electrocuted: the undercut Leo had dared him to get after he'd lost a (drunken) bet doesn't really help. His glasses fall back onto his nose, and he pushes them back. He is a mess, but god, shirtless Percy holding a classic in his hands is kindofsortof really attractive. Jesus, if reading can turn Percy into this...

She turns a page of her textbook. "If Little Women broke you, you should read Pride and Prejudice. Or Daddy Long Legs."

"Sounds stupid."

"I guess it does sound a little childish." She shrugs. "It's not for everyone, I guess."

"Hmm." He heads to the bookshelf, and she grins. Victory.

Discovery Three: the guy can cook.

This, she learns, is because as a child, Percy had had an abnormal knack for breaking anything he got his hands on (a habit, she thinks, still persists to this day): he'd apparently end up getting in the way of his stepfather's poker games, so his mother would sit him down in the kitchen and make him help her with dinner. Somewhere down the line, he'd actually picked up the skill pretty well, and now he spends a great deal of time in the kitchen, dicing carrots and caramelizing onions and...doing a bunch of other stuff Annabeth has no clue about.

His breakfasts are famous. Even before they'd started living together, Annabeth had heard of his legendary pancakes: Leo, Grover, Frank and Reyna would always be at his apartment before their classes, while Jason yelled at them to "get back, get back, go get your own roommate chef, he's mine." Annabeth had almost always left for her own classes by this point, so she'd never actually had a whole plate of Percy's pancakes to herself, but the very first weekend since his moving in, he makes her a batch and she immediately understands what the all the fuss had been about.

"Oh my god. Yes," she moans, setting down her fork after the first bite and leaning back in the chair. "Yes. I needed this. I had no idea how much I needed this." She takes another bite. "Holy shit." Leo and a couple of others, like Travis and Connor, had been pestering her to invite them over for brunch, "to celebrate the two of you moving in together," they'd said, but really they'd just wanted a bite of this. Annabeth's generally pretty nice about sharing, but she's beginning to think that maybe being selfish, in this case, wouldn't leave her feeling guilty in the slightest.

"Pour the syrup over them," he adds, bending over the oven.

"Ooooh, yes," she says, grabbing the bottle of chocolate syrup and squeezing it. The very sight of the chocolate dripping over the golden pancakes is enough to get her drooling again, and Percy snorts. He's got a sprinkling of flour across the bridge of his nose, and his fingers are stained blue with food coloring. He's always told her that it's not proper cookie dough unless you make it from scratch and use your hands to mix.

She's gotten used to the blue food fairly quickly, too. Besides the whole symbolism of the blue food — apparently his rude ex-stepfather had believed that blue food couldn't be a thing — it's his favorite color, and it reflects in his cooking: most of the desserts he makes are accompanied with blue sprinkles, blue icing, blue whipped cream. Once he makes a pie that is entirely blue: filling, crust and all. It had tasted incredible, but her teeth had been stained cobalt for a day afterward; she'd been forced to not talk all day and send everyone awkward, tight-lipped smiles. The kiss he'd planted on her cheek afterward had left a mark, too: someone had actually asked her if her partner wore blue lipstick.

Percy had snorted when he'd heard, adding a handful of chocolate chips to the already-blue bowl of batter in his arms.

"I feel like you're fattening me up for slaughter," she complains.

"I'm sorry," he replies, rolling his eyes and pulling out another batch of macarons from the oven. "You're my new guinea pig, my roommates always have been. Here, try these."

She takes a bite. "It's so good I could actually cry."

"Yeah?" The dopey smile on his face is actually a good look on him; she takes another bite to stop herself from saying something or calling him out on it and chasing the expression away.

"Yeah, it's great." She kisses his jawline, which is dotted with sugar, too, then snorts when he brushes the flour from his hair onto hers. He steps back, sighing, examining his sugary hands and picking at the food coloring smeared across his shirt.

"Maybe I should teach you." He blinks. "Again."

Because yeah, he'd tried. She'd made a batch of disgustingly burnt oatmeal cookies after his first lesson and had blamed his terrible teaching skills, but they both know that the real problem is that Annabeth doesn't belong in the kitchen. She can do most things, including draw, sew, and name the capital of every country in the world, but cooking is a weak point. And god, Percy had tried. He'd demonstrated each step of the recipe, step by step, but the moment she had tried, everything had gone to shit. He still tries, though, once in a while. He plays it off like she'll learn better that way, but she's pretty sure he just wants to make cookies.

Plus, in the kitchen, she gets more ADHD than him, even, which is quite the feat. Something about the place just mocks her, now, like the kitchen is saying ha, I know you'd like to use the oven, but you'd probably just set off the fire alarm. And it's true, though, so now the only time Annabeth enters the kitchen is to organize the contents of the cupboards (it's always fun watching Percy mosey around the kitchen, trying to find what he needs now that it's in a new place) and to make coffee.

But sometimes she will wake up to Percy bustling around the pots and pans, trying not to wake her. He uses cooking as a stressbuster, and he looks so calm and concentrated when he's piping icing that it makes her smile. One morning, she walks into the kitchen to see him making her omelettes, singing softly under his breath, and the sunlight from the tiny window hits him so that it's like he's glowing. He looks adorably domestic in his apron and oven mitts, too. Plus, she likes it when he climbs into bed all sugary and stuff. Kissing him, then, is literally sweet as hell.

Discovery Four: He's a slut for reality TV. And the worst part is he tries to hide it.

She notices it slowly: sometimes Jason will mention an episode of Survivor, or Leo will be talking about some cake someone made on Cake Boss, and Percy will always, always know what they are talking about. Hazel, who's been bingewatching MasterChef Australia, once mentions which season she's on, and Percy accidentally tells her who the winner is. Hazel had screamed at him and thrown a pen at his face, but Annabeth was just curious to find out when he had even watched the show in the first place.

He has literally seen everything. She's seen him gossiping with Travis and Connor about The Voice, seen him talking to Piper about Project Runway, and apparently he and his swimming coach bond over their favorite contestants on The Biggest Loser. It wouldn't be weird, except she's never actually seen him watching any of these programmes when they're on TV. He uses his laptop pretty often, but she's never caught him with headphones. Either he's watching the episodes in the bathroom, or he's just reading the summaries on Wikipedia and pretending he's watched them. Whatever the case, it's very mysterious.

She tries catching him in the act, too, which may sound immature but it's driving her mad, okay. She creeps behind his shoulder when he's working on his laptop: he jumps in surprise when he sees her, but the only tabs he's got open are a website for internship interviews and a Google search on eggless vanilla sponge cake. She grunts, then hands the laptop back to him.

He misunderstands the reason for her disappointment. "Did you want a different flavor of cake?"

"No," she grumbles.

"Because I can make chocolate if you want."

"Vanilla's fine, Percy."

And it doesn't stop. He keeps dropping all these comments, too: simple stuff, like, "Annabeth, you should be on Fear Factor. There's an episode where they have to lie down in a box full or tarantulas," or "God, if I were on Cupcake Wars, I'd beat his ass so bad."

"You've watched Cupcake Wars?" she asks.

"Caught an episode last week," he shrugs. "Seems all right. All they do is make cupcakes, I think."

"Oh," she says. "Nice."

And then, a few days later, he's talking to Grover about the latest episode of So You think You Can Dance. He knows everyone: each contestant, the judges, even past winners.

"You've watched So You Think You Can Dance?" she asks.

"Watched a few episodes last Saturday, when you were at Rachel's," he said. "It got pretty boring after a while."

"Oh," she says. Then— "I give up."

And she does. Percy keeps showing off his knowledge of every reality show ever aired, and yes, it does drive her crazy, but she's given up. Maybe he watched them all as a kid and reads the summaries online.

Which is why, when she gets up at midnight for a drink of water one night, she's extremely shocked to see Percy on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap and his glasses balancing over his nose, watching prerecorded episodes of America's Next Top Model.

"Oh my god," she says.

He turns so quickly that the popcorn falls to the floor. "...this isn't what is looks like."

"Oh my god," she repeats, squinting at the screen. "Oh my god. You're watching ANTM at midnight with popcorn and Pepsi. I don't know whether to be happy that I was right, or pissed because you didn't even invite me."

Looking slightly abashed, he scoots over on the couch. "There's waffles on the table."

"You asshole." She retrieves the plate, hits the play button, then glances at the screen. "Cycle Fourteen? Really?"

"It's my favorite season," he admits. "Plus, the top five go to New Zealand, which is, like, my favorite place ever. Plus Andre is a judge. I mean, Raina should've won, but—"

"I know!" Annabeth exclaims. "Krista got only a handful of strong pictures, while Raina's were great from the very beginning."

"Wait." He points at the screen. "You've watched this cycle? You've watched this show?"

"Well, I dunno," she says exaggeratedly. "I, y'know, caught a few episodes, and it seems pretty dumb, so—"

"I didn't say that," Percy whines, "not that much. And not like that, jeez. Is that what I sound like to you?"

"Only always," she says. Then she laughs. "Oh my god, I knew it. I knew you were watching all this stuff somehow, but I had no clue you were staying up and bingewatching, no wonder you get up so late."

"It's a disease," he says, shaking his head in mock sorrow.

"I don't care," she mumbles. "Just call me next time. I haven't watched the newer seasons."

She pretends to not notices how he smiles as she gives the remote back to him and leans into his shoulder. He reaches out to hold her hand. "Definitely."

And these are only topping the list. She unearths a whole lot more, too, like Discovery Six: holy crap he looks really, really good in a suit, or Discovery Nine: He's a shower singer, and he isn't even half-bad, or Discovery Ten: His hair takes a while to grow, but it's worth it, because he looks great with a little ponytail, or Discovery Twelve: He loves romantic comedies, and almost always ends up tearing up a little at the end, or even Discovery Fifteen: he's got such a thing for her wearing his clothes, and mmmph, she thinks hazily, as he hoists his shirt a little bit so that his fingers graze the bare skin on her stomach, she could get used to this.

Living with Percy isn't all sunshine and rainbows, of course. They do have their fair share of arguments, but she learns to stop herself when she's getting too stubborn about something, and he learns to not push her too hard. Gradually, though, they get used to each other, and her life settles into a routine that merges with his. Sometimes, when she's doing an internship, he'll put a bag of smiley-faced cookies just to cheer her up; sometimes she'll surprise him at the lab aquarium where he assists the lead biologist and try to learn the names of all the fish ("Why do you want to know? Seems fishy," he'd cackled).

And it is stupid how much she kind of enjoys being around him, waking up to him next to her and him singing in the shower and making her her favorite food whenever she's feeling down and kissing her fiercely every time she helps him do well on a test. She notices the teeniest little details about him: the way his eyebrows furrow when he's worried or confused, the way he bites his lower lip when he's impatient, the way he sometimes grabs her hand when they're in bed and makes little circle motions with his thumb. She wants to keep noticing these things forever, and that's when it hits her; Discovery Eighteen isn't about him, it's more about herself, and it comes out in a rush: "I love you."

She couldn't have possibly said it at a worse time: he's making caramel, stirring the pot with a thermometer in his hand. She's sitting on the couch with her feet up, a book in her lap. There's a small clatter as the thermometer slips from his fingers and he rushes to pick it up; the pots on the counter spill to the floor. The few seconds he takes to pick them up are enough: the caramel burns, she can smell it in the air. He switches off the stove and stares at her. Annabeth is just about ready to die.

"Oh my god," she says, her hands over her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I said it without thinking—"

There's a blue of blue as Percy throws away his apron and he's over her in a flash, cupping his face in her hands and kissing her once, twice, thrice—

"Annabeth," he says, "I love you. I love you too. Oh my god, so much."

"Huh?" Her mind is woolly from all the kissing, which, even after a year and three months, still steal her breath the same way it did the first time he asked, "Can I kiss you?" with cupcake crumbs on his shirt.

"I love you." He leans away, sighing, closing his eyes. "God, it feels good to say that." Which is when she realizes he's been holding himself back, and it makes her feel terrible.

"Perce, you didn't have to hold it in," she says, brushing some sugar from his hair. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"No, I just...didn't want to make it too awkward, in case it was too soon," he says.

"And you wouldn't have minded me saying it first and making it awkward?" She lifts an eyebrow.

"Didn't really think things through."

"When have you ever?" She smiles when he laughs, and his eyes wink in the light. Something about Percy laughing makes everything in her little world feel right; his smile is so dazzling that it leaves her a little breathless in its wake. She's still a little flush from her sudden confession, but, despite her embarrassment at the timing of it all, she doesn't regret her words at all.

He kisses her again, twining his hand in her curls. "I ruined the caramel."

She smiles against his lips. "I know. I could tell."

"This is your fault, y'know," he mumbles, moving from her lips to her neck, drawing a little gasp from her. "I've been trying to get that caramel right for weeks, and then you had to just go and distract me—"

"Please." Her brain feels like it's about to short-circuit. "I just said I loved you, it's not that big of a deal, nothing for you to get distracted over—"

"You're the worst," he murmurs, sounding absolutely enchanted. He kisses her lips raw; her hands tangle in his hair. When he pulls away, the look on his face — free, easy contentment mixed with a powerful desire — makes her heart slow down, then speed up. Something in her snaps, electric in its suddenness, and her hands reach out for his clothes. Her fingers make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and then skim lightly over the belt loops on his jeans.

"Woah. Hey." The craziness in his eyes dies a little; this is uncharted territory. "You sure?"

She takes a breath to slow down, calm herself. And when she looks up to meet his eyes, she finds that her feelings haven't changed, not even a little.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm sure."

/

Annabeth wakes up alone.

After thoroughly patting the blankets next to her and determining that Percy isn't huddled inside, she is, for a moment, seized by a fleeting panic that vanishes when she feels the sheets he's left behind and sees that they're still warm; he couldn't have left the bed too long ago.

The next thing she notices is that her arms are sprayed with blue ink; she makes her way to the bathroom to wash it off. In her still-sleepy mind, she first wonders if she'd gotten up in the middle of her slumber to go write something, but then she figures that the markings must've been caused by her soulmate, who'd possibly had a mishap with a pen. The thought makes her feel strangely lonely, which is weird, since she'd just had sex with her boyfriend for the first time only a few hours ago.

She dresses herself in shorts and one of Percy's shirts, and old orange one that has some strange markings on it. The sunlight is almost blinding when she pulls the curtains apart, but it fills the room with a soft warmth and makes her feel calmer. The room itself is completely wrecked: the curtain railing from the second window has broken off completely — which she remembers was her doing, whoops — and the curtain lies discarded near the shirt she'd been wearing the night before. She stares at the door, noticing, for the first time, the sliver of space keeping it from being completely closed. She creeps toward it and opens it.

She finds Percy busying himself over the stove, humming the theme song of Miraculous Ladybug, a kids' show he's become shamelessly attached to; he's been trying to get the rest of them into it, too ("No, Jason, you don't get it: see, Marinette likes Adrien, but he's Chat Noir, and she doesn't like Chat Noir. But Chat Noir, I mean Adrien, likes Ladybug, but he doesn't know that Marinette is Ladybug, who doesn't like Chat Noir, because she likes Adrien, get it?").

"Morning." He sets down a cup of coffee in front of her, then joins her with a plate of scrambled eggs on toast. This, she knows, is his hangover fix. She wonders if he feels like he's drank a lot. She wonders what he's feeling at all. At times like these, she always finds it hard to read him.

"You sure woke up late," he says. He yawns, eyes fluttering shut, and Annabeth is so distracted by just how good he looks here, bathed in the early morning light, that she forgets where she is for a second. Suddenly she is hyperaware of him: the way he is stretching, causing his shirt to shift a little, revealing part of his collarbone, littered with red marks. Annabeth isn't going to test it out, but she's fairly sure the marks will match the shape of her mouth; more memories of his hands all over her fill her head and make her blush, and she quickly looks down at her plate.

"Was tired," she murmurs in reply, taking a sip of coffee.

"You're welcome," he grins. She nearly chokes, then kicks him underneath the table. He laughs, takes a bite of toast, letting the bread hang between his teeth as he brushes aside all the papers littering the table. His arms are dyed a faint blue, and she spots a large wet patch on his shirt where'd he obviously tried — and failed — to rub the large spot of ink away.

"Yeah," he says, following her gaze. "I woke up and I was like, hey, I've got that paper due on Tuesday, so I should get started, and, like, the moment I grabbed a pen, it exploded on me." His lips curve upward in his usual wry smile. "Guess the universe is telling me to sit back and rest today."

She smiles a little. His gaze is warmer that before, and it makes her feel itchy when it connects with hers. "Hey," she remembers suddenly, "You don't have a soulmark."

He stops eating. "I switched off the lights yesterday, but I guess you still got a pretty good look at me, huh?"

"Oh my god, Percy—" She really does choke this time, and comes up spluttering. She thumps her chest until her coughing subsides: Percy snorts with laughter and slides a cup of water toward her. His stupid smirk makes her tempted to throw it right back in his face, but she takes a sip instead and sighs, averting her gaze from his hair as memories of her fingers grasping at it threaten to seep into her head.

"Stop grinning," she snaps. "I just noticed —" she ignores his smirk— "and I was curious, okay? We've never really...talked about it before."

"Yeah." His shit-eating grin vanishes, replaced by an expression more somber and thoughtful. "I guess we haven't."

"So?"

"So." He sets down the mug of coffee, resting his head in the palm of his hand and blinking up at her rapidly. "Yeah. I don't have a soulmark."

"Oh," she says, understandably a little skeptical. Not having a soulmark isn't unheard of, it's just...rare. She supposes there might be something freeing about not having a designated partner.

He smiles a little. "I don't have a soulmark, but that doesn't mean I don't have a soulmate."

"What?" She looks up. "You've got the writing kind of bond, too?"

"Yeah." He frowns. "Wait. Too?"

She regrets opening her mouth, now. "Uh. Yeah. I've got the kind of soulmark where writing on my skin appears on theirs."

"Wow," he smiles. "I've met so few people with this kind."

"Yeah." She fidgets. "So...have you talked to them recently? Your soulmate."

"No." His eyes go a little flat, like the emotion is being leached out of them. "No. Not in years. Sometimes I'll see markings on my hand, but...they're not meant for me." She pulls back a little to stare at him, and sees her own broken self mirrored in his eyes. For some reason, it feels important.

"Yeah." She's seem marks on her hand, too, the same as she'd seen that morning. Little dots, possibly from ink. The occasional little sting from a wound. Perseus had tried to contact her pretty regularly even after she stopped communicating from her end. Stuff like Hello and How are you? Sometimes he gave her updates. I've switched schools to stay at home with Mom, or Math is still freaking hard. She never replied, and he soon stopped trying. Now all she gets are the dots. Like stars, she thinks ruefully, but not like the first time.

With a start, she realizes that she hasn't thought about it in a long, long time.

"Woah," he says, "you okay?"

Annabeth touches her face to wipe away the tears beading up under her eyelids. "Yeah. No. Just thinking." Thankfully, he doesn't comment on the way her voice cracks on the last word. Her hands touch her abdomen, where Perseus had had a wound so many years ago. Her reasons for not talking to him seem selfish now. Almost cruel. Had she simply abandoned him to his demons while she went on with her life?

"I...I haven't talked to my soulmate in a while, either," she tells him. "But...it was my fault. My—my parents had a divorce."

"You've told me," he says.

"They were soulmates. After my mom left...my father was never the same. Said soulmates were a sham. I-I dunno. Some part of me believed him. Some part of me still believes him. It took him a long, long time for him to be happy, and when he found someone...he did it on his own. She wasn't his soulmate, the person that the universe picked out for him. She was someone else, but he was happy anyway." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "After that, I...I didn't know if I still believed in soulmates anymore. That's why I stopped talking to mine."

"That..." He stops. "I guess I understand what you mean."

"I mean...I want to find someone I love, whether they're my soulmate or not," she says in a rush. "I don't want to be...bound by the whole idea that there's only one person I'm meant to be with. I don't care about soulmates, I just want to find love that's...real. "

"It's okay, I get it. You should tell your soulmate, too," he says with a smile, "one day. Explain. I'm sure he'll get it."

She sags in her seat, thinking about it. Her coffee has gone cold, and she picks at her toast. She watches the way Percy uses both hands to pour himself a glass of orange juice, fascinated by the way his tongue sticks out slightly. It is a while before she says, "Percy, you were my first."

He sits back, smiling a little. He cocks his head at an angle, very slightly, but his expression is so earnest that she feels it physically pang through her. "You were mine."

"Really?"

"Why would I lie?"

Her laugh sounds a little dazed. "My ex, in high school, he wanted us to have sex. He didn't push me into it or anything, and we liked each other. But, in the moment...it just felt wrong." Her eyes squeeze out little tears. "And the worst part was, I knew that it would always feel wrong. So I ended it. And then, I guess, seeing Piper and Jason, and Frank and Hazel, and all the other soulmates, I kind of lost hope a little."

"I get that." Percy twitches. He stuffs a large amount of toast into his mouth, but it's not enough to distract from the slight trembling of his lip. "My ex, Calypso...I liked her, a lot, but...it wasn't like...like this. Like us."

"Yesterday..." She finally allows herself to smile. "It didn't feel wrong at all."

"Yeah?" He grins, his entire face lighting up. Crinkles form at the corner of his eyes. "Really?"

"Really." She extends her arm across the table, and he grasps it with his own, his calloused thumb gently tracing over her knuckles,. "I-I love you, Percy. Maybe that makes us soulmates after all. Even if we weren't meant to be."

"You kidding me?" he says, grinning. "That's the best part."

/

To be honest, Annabeth isn't entirely sure how she ended up in Sally Jackson's kitchen on Christmas Eve, filling the flower vases with candy canes and fucking up the piping of the icing on the cake.

"Wow," Percy remarks, watching her struggle with a blue cupcake. "You really suck at this."

Annabeth glares at him, holding the piping bag aloft like a weapon. "I will shove this into your nostril. And squeeze."

Percy splutters, "You're so violent."

"He's just ashamed because he did that himself once," Sally says in a confidential whisper. "When he was four, he saw me making a cake, and he'd been whiny all day, saying I wasn't paying attention to him, so he grabbed a hold of the piping bag, and—"

"Mom!" Percy yelps, while Annabeth howls with laughter. "Stop!"

"He fell to the ground," Sally wheezes, wiping a tear from her eye. "With about enough icing leaking through his nose to cover two or so more cakes—"

Annabeth laughs so hard that her eyes well up; Percy's mother isn't much better. Even Paul, Percy's stepfather, bent over a newspaper at the dining table, is shaking with silent laughter. Percy's green eyes are filled with the pain of betrayal as he looks at him mother. "Haven't you told her enough for one evening?"

"No," Annabeth manages through her giggles. "Not nearly enough."

"Well," Sally begins, but Percy distracts her by yelling, "Shutupshutupcaneverybodyshutup—"

"You are twenty one years old," Sally admonishes. "Please act it."

"Yeah, Percy," Annabeth says. "You're twenty one, stop acting like that time you were six and you saw a goldfish tank in the mall and tried to jump in from the escalator—"

"Mom!" Percy shrieks; Sally is tearing up over the cookies again.

"I can't," Percy grunts, "I can't even with you two. I'm gonna go out and buy...something." The door slams behind him, and she winces at the sound.

Sally only rolls her eyes. "Always the drama queen. I think he got it from his father."

"Yeah, none of that was you," Paul calls, winking at Annabeth, who laughs.

"His father...left, right? If you don't mind me asking?" Annabeth asks cautiously, glancing at the older woman as she removes her oven mitts. Etched into her wrist are three names. One, on her left wrist, spells out Ugliano, while the two on her right wrist read Poseidon and Blofis. The first name, Poseidon, is crossed out. She is wondering what it means when Sally shifts, and Annabeth realizes she's been staring.

"Sorry," she says, embarrassed.

"It's alright," Sally says, holding out her wrists for Annabeth to inspect. "My kind of soulmark is pretty rare; seems like everyone's got the matching tattoos these days..." She tilts her head. "The name on the left is the person meant to be an enemy, while the name on the right is supposed to be one's soulmate. I guess—" she lifts her right wrist slightly — "that was Percy's father for a while, but his name was crossed out the moment he left, and Paul's appeared right under it."

"Woah." Annabeth looks at the other wrist. "And Ugliano?"

"An ex-husband." Sally frowns at the memory. "He was a pretty crass human being. Percy used to call him Smelly Gabe."

Annabeth snorts, momentarily distracted, as the name Gabe seems to stir something in the depths of her memory. She shakes her head quickly to clear the thought, and lifts the piping bag again, just as Sally says, "Percy tells me you have a soulmate?"

"I do." For some reason, Annabeth doesn't want to say his name aloud. "I haven't talked to him in a while, though."

"Neither has Percy." Sally cranks the temperature of the oven up a little. "I remember when he first got a reply, too: he'd been doodling on his arm and then he came running to me, screaming about how there were tiny people inside him, writing back."

"I did something similar," Annabeth recalls, grinning. "Gosh, we were pretty stupid as kids."

"He was pretty crushed when the girl stopped talking," Sally says. Her face grows sad, and her wrinkles show a little more prominently. "Took him a while to get over it, but the girl must've had her own reasons, and besides, I would always tell him, who says a person has got to end up with their soulmate, anyway?"

"Yes, exactly." Annabeth allows herself to smile. "Even my father found someone after my mom left."

"Destiny is a romantic notion," she smiles, pushing back a long lock of brown hair. "It's all well and good to say that two people are destined for each other, and that's the whole point of soulmates, honestly. But even in today's world, with all its technological advancements, it's quite impossible for two soulmates to find each other. There are people spend their whole lives searching for their soulmates, without result."

"The universe," Annabeth says, echoing her father from many years ago, "can be kind enough to let you have a soulmate, and even find them, but keeping them is another matter altogether."

Sally smiles, and her eyes glow a warm blue. "After what happened with your parents, I think you're very smart to choose to do your own thing. Sometimes leaving your life in the hands of the universe is a little...reckless."

"You're the first person to tell me that," Annabeth admits, feeling unexpectedly warm at the older woman's words. "Even Percy..." she stops. "He said he understood."

"My son is a romantic at heart, unfortunately," she says, laughing lightly. "Like his mother, although I think I'm a little smarter about things now. But I'm glad he has you. He seems happier than he has ever been. You're good for him." She pats Annabeth's cheek with a light, slightly flour-y touch. "Like I said, believing in destiny and fate and soulmates is never a bad thing. But a good dose of reality and logic is always necessary, especially for us romantics."

"I'll give him enough logic to last a lifetime," Annabeth promises; Sally laughs, turning back to the oven, as, from the living room, Paul calls, "I can't find the screwdriver."

"It's Christmas," Sally sighs. "What do you need the screwdriver for?"

"It's a surprise," Paul replies.

Sally looks like she's just about had enough surprises for a lifetime, but she exhales and looks beseechingly at Annabeth. "There's a toolbox in Percy's room, it's the second one down the hall. Could you grab it for Paul?"

"Sure thing." Annabeth dries her hands and shakes the flour off her hair before exiting the kitchen.

Percy's room is small and painted in varying shades of blue, like he'd done it himself as a child. There are tattered posters on the wall, and she smiles at the sight of a Finding Nemo one. Old schoolbooks line the shelves, coated in a thin layer of dust. Over by the window, there is a flowerpot with a dead plant inside; the flowerpot is labelled Moonlace in capital letters.

She finds the toolbox under his bed, along with a carton of old test papers and report cards, and a dishcloth dotted with ink. She sits down on his bed, almost sitting on a black marker that would've stained her pants horribly, and is reaching toward the box of papers when Percy's voice interrupts her, "Whatcha doing?"

She jumps guiltily as Percy switches on the light and crosses the room to reach her; he sits on his haunches and examines the box. He's got a package of gummy worms in his hand.

He opens one report card and his ears go pink. "Nope." He snaps the file shut. "You're not seeing this."

"What is it?" she asks curiously. The file in his hand is a faded blue with an eagle crest with the words Yancy Academy printed above it in posh gold lettering. "I won't judge you if your grades are bad."

"It's not that." He rolls his eyes at the look she gives him. "Well, it's not only that."

"What else?" She grins. "Oh, what? Is it your real name? I always assumed it was Percival—"

"That is disgusting," Percy laughs. "I've told you, my name is Percy; I got my first name changed when I was fifteen."

"Shut up, Percival—"

"It's not Percival," he grins. "Think more Greek mythology." He sweeps his hand at the dresser, where several action figures of Greek gods stand; she even sees a deck of purple Mythomagic cards spread across his study table. "I was obsessed with them after I found out my dad's name was Poseidon."

"Oh, yeah." She picks out the screwdriver from the toolbox and twirls it between her fingers. "You mom just told me. About your dad, I mean."

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I never knew him, so there's nothing to miss, but all that time with Smelly Gabe..."

"Gabe," she repeats, because the name is so, so familiar.

"Haven't I told you about him? He smelled like fresh cow poop in a sewer—"

"Thank you," she cuts in, as he begins to chuckle, "for that needlessly graphic description."

"But yeah. He was horrible. My mom used to cover her right hand with makeup so he wouldn't see that she'd already met her soulmate, and so figure out he was with his enemy." Percy shudders. "I was so happy when Mom filed for divorce. I'm glad she has Paul, too."

"Yeah." She glances at the open marker she'd tossed aside as she sat down, and wonders when it had last been used, and what it had been used for. Maybe, she thinks, he used it to write on his skin. Maybe he penned down little notes to his soulmate: things like his obsession with Greek gods and their stats in Mythomagic. The thought makes her strangely sad, because his soulmate had deprived him of a response, the way she'd done to her own.

"Your mom," she begins hesitantly, "she said...after your soulmate stopped talking to you..."

"Wow," Percy marvels, his eyes flashing, "she really had a field day today."

"No, this story isn't a bad one," she assures him. "I dunno, it's just...she said you were pretty cut up when your soulmate stopped talking to you."

He lies back on the bed, his hair pressing against the sheets. The blanket is blue, just like the one at their apartment. "Yeah. I was. But I'm okay now."

"I know." She touches him lightly on the lips, unsure, now, of what she'd wanted to say. "I know." Her eyes comb the room for want of a distraction of some sort, any sort, and they finally rest on a rather fancy-looking pen resting in a box lined in blue velvet on his table. She points at it. "What's that?"

He sits up, glances at it, and then groans, falling back into the sheets. "It's nothing."

"This house is full of secrets," Annabeth observes.

"C'mon," Percy begs, "let's go back to my mom, I'll let her finish showing you all my baby pictures."

"Wow, this story must be pretty juicy, then. Tell me, tell me," she grins. "Pleeeeaaase, I won't judge, you know I won't."

"It's stupid." He covers his face with his hands. "It's so stupid and cheesy. You'll laugh."

"I wont." She grabs his hand and links their pinkies. "Promise."

"Okay, okay." He glances at the pen, then at her. "Well, this pen was a gift from my dad to my mom. She kept it all these years, and then gave it to me the day I left for boarding school. I kind of thought of it as a good-luck charm. I actually think that's the pen I was using when my soulmate first replied to me." His cheeks are pink. "And...afterward, oh god, please don't judge me..."

"I won't."

"I...well, you know how when we write something, it appears on out soulmate's skin, too?" Percy draws a line down his arm, and she nods, understanding, feeling a peculiar, tingly kind of sensation traveling up her own forearm. "So, I thought, if I ever meet my soulmate, and fall in love with them...and marry them..." His words are barely whispers. "I thought I'd propose by drawing a ring on my finger, so it'd appear on theirs. I filled Riptide with gold ink and swore that that would be how I'd propose to my soulmate."

"That..." she begins, smiling. Percy is determinedly avoiding her gaze. "I think that's adorable."

"Oh, shut up, it's the cheesiest thing imaginable," Percy laughs. "Can you believe I was like thirteen when I thought of it? I thought it was the best thing ever. Clearly I spent too much time watching romantic comedies instead of doing something actually productive."

"It's really sweet," she insists, nudging him with her knee. "I swear. It's cheesy, but still cute as hell."

He sighs, closing his eyes as she lies down on her back beside him and presses her nose into the nape of his neck. Then she snorts, remembering another detail of the story. "Percy...you named your ink pen Riptide?"

"How about we not talk abut this," Percy suggests in a warning tone, as she begins to giggle.

Sally appears at the door. "Sorry to interrupt, you two, but Percy, Paul is asking for the screwdriver: could you go hand it over, and please make sure he doesn't electrocute himself...Annabeth, I could use a hand setting the table."

"Of course, sorry," Annabeth follows her to the kitchen, while Percy grabs the screwdriver, grumbling under his breath about how he knew a kid who named all his stationery.

She busies herself with helping Sally move all the food from the kitchen to the dining table, while Percy and Paul work on fixing the wiring to light up the Christmas tree. She's placed the last dish down and accepted Sally's hug when she finally asks what she's been thinking about for a while now: "Sally, do you think...I should contact my soulmate?"

Sally keeps her arms around her, like she's aware that Annabeth wants this conversation to remain unheard by the other two. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking. I've been thinking about it for some time now, actually. I mean...Percy, with his soulmate, he didn't get any closure. I've left someone like him hanging, too, and I'd like to make things right with him. For closure." She pulls back from the hug. "Do you think..."

"I think it's a good idea," Sally murmurs. "And don't worry about your soulmate. Or Percy, for that matter. He'll get it."

"I'll get what?" Percy asks, coming up from behind Annabeth and punching her lightly on the shoulder.

"You'll get pneumonia," Sally scolds, "if you keep walking around in that baggy old shirt, in this weather, too, Percy, honestly—"

"Mom, you're the one who said I was twenty-one, I can take care of myself—"

"Okay!" Paul crows. "Who's ready to see the flashiest Christmas Tree in the world?"

"I'll get the camera," Sally exclaims, rushing to her room. Paul follows her, telling Annabeth as she passes, "She doesn't even know where the camera is—"

"I forgot something in my room, too," Percy says, and he runs inside. Annabeth is left alone in the hallway; she spies a pen on the coffee table, and on a crazy impulse, picks it up. With a hand shaking slightly, she opens up her palm and draws a star in the center, filling it in so it's impossible to miss. Then she adds, Hi. Simple and safe, just like the first time. She rubs the words away, feeling nervous.

There's a yelp from Percy's room, and the crash that follows makes her jump.

"Percy?" she calls. "You okay?"

Silence as Sally and Paul return, eyebrows raised questioningly. She shrugs in response. Now all she can hear is the sound of a running tap.

"Yeah," he calls back in a strained voice. "I'm fine."

He emerges from the room a minute later, his t-shirt splashed with golden ink and a small, scared smile on his lips. He rubs his bare arms, hugging them closer to himself. "Ugh, the water's freezing." His nails make little crescent-shaped markings on his biceps.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Saw a huge spider on the shelf," he says immediately. "Tried to kill it, hit my hand against the edge of the wood, and kind of knocked over a bottle of gold ink." She notices, now, the way he's cradling his left hand. He smiles uneasily. "I squashed the spider, but it took some work scrubbing the ink away."

"My hero," she smiles, brushing the dust off his hair, seeing, as she does so, little marks on the inside of her arm that prickle slightly when her warm fingers touch them. Percy laughs, light and warm, and just like that the unease bubbling in the pit of her stomach fizzles away, as Sally readies the camera and Paul counts down, "Aaaand a-three, aaand a-two, aaand one!" before pressing his finger down on the switch.

The tree glows so brightly and colorfully that it's hard to spot the leaves of the pine at all. Sally clicks enough pictures to fill an album while Percy ooohs and aaahs, clapping exaggeratedly. Paul looks radiant next to the luminous tree and Sally crosses the room to give her husband a kiss; Percy twirls the fancy pen she's seen in his room — Riptide, she remembers, that must've been what he went back to retrieve — between his fingers, then shoves it into his pocket and gives her a side-hug.

"Look," Annabeth mumbles, gesturing toward the ceiling, and at the little sprig of green hovering above them like a speech bubble. "Mistletoe."

"That isn't mistletoe," Percy notes. "That's from the time Mom tried to teach you to make pasta and you thought throwing basil leaves at the ceiling would somehow improve the flavor—"

"You piece of shit, if you don't wanna kiss me you can just say so—" she gasps, but the rest of her sentence is lost as he spins her around and kisses her anyway, slow and soft, like snow drifting down from the sky.

/

The reply comes three mornings later; words curl around her wrist as she reaches out to hold her morning latte. Beth?

"Fuck." She pays for the drink, hands shaking, and then seats herself at a small table near the back of the cafe, setting down her drink and picking up a pen. It's been a while.

That it has.

How've you been?

Good. Very good, actually. Then— I've found someone.

Pain cuts through her, sharp, like the blade of a knife, but warm, honest relief quickly washes it away. Same.

That's nice.

Thank you, she writes, rolling up her sleeve to write more. I'm happy for you.

Thanks. I'm even planning to propose soon. There is something achingly familiar about the print on her arms; she supposes that it is something like nostalgia: after all, it's been years since she's seen his writing on her.

Congratulations.

Thank you. How are you doing?

I'm good. Still studying. I'm in New York, she writes.

There is a long pause, and then he writes back: I'm still here, too.

Would you — the pen stills on her palm, and then she scrawls quickly, before she can change her mind — Would you mind meeting me?

His response is immediate. Like he'd been expecting it, and his print is in bold. Why?

She watches the steam rise from her cup, then looks outside the nearest window. The sunlight feels too bright now, sending splinters of bright light through her eyes. Her latte is cold by the time she formulates a response, and she gets another napkin to wipe away the words she'd written before. To...talk.

Talk?

I've been...terrible to you, she scribbles. I've been stupid and insensitive and selfish. I'd like to apologize. And congratulate you, in person. Her handwriting is shaky by the end of it; the passage takes up almost her entire palm. I really am happy for you, Perseus.

When? he replies, and she lets out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

This Saturday?

The seventeenth? I'm free, I guess. We could meet up after dinner.

Sure. How about close to the Chrysler building?

How does the aquarium sound? I've kind of got...business to take care of close by. And the Chrysler building is pretty far.

Sure. See you then?

Yeah. Bye.

The pen drops, and then cold, dripping shame descends over her like a raincloud. Guilt that she hasn't told Percy any of this and that she doesn't plan to — at least, not until it is all over. He will understand, she knows, of course he will, but this is a step she must take on her own. She needs to meet her soulmate, whose heart she had very likely broken seven years ago, and beg for his forgiveness, and, finally, end all possibilities with him forever. Because she knows, oh, she knows, with more certainty than she's ever felt about anything in her life, that her only future can be with Percy.

Her fingers shake as she dials Sally's number, and she blubbers, as soon as the older woman picks up, "I took your advice."

"What?"

"Your advice. Well, my own advice. I contacted my soulmate." She's breathing hard, now, almost gulping for air; the people around her and beginning to look her way so she walks outside, and the fresh air calms her down a little. "I...Sally, I told him I'd meet him—"

"That's good, darli—"

"I feel so terrible," she cries, slumping against a lamp post, clutching it with her free hand. "I-I feel like I'm betraying Percy, or something. I-I'm just so scared that—"

"Ah." Sally's voice is sympathetic. "That you'll fall in love with your soulmate if you meet him?"

Her knees feel shaky. "Yeah. Yeah. I mean, this is the person, y'know? The person I'm supposed to be with. I mean, I know, I know that it's possible for people to find love with people other than their soulmate - I mean, look at my dad! But before that...before that, he loved my mom. He found her. I-I—"

"Annabeth, sweetie, calm down, for starters," Sally soothes. "You love Percy, yes?"

"I do." Her breaths begin to even out. "I do. Very much."

"Then trust that," Sally says. "I might sound biased, because, well, this is my son we're talking about, but I do want you to do what you think is best. And, as you told me the other day, you need closure. Will meeting your soulmate help you get it?"

"I think so." Annabeth looks at the paint underneath her fingernails. "I...I owe it to him. I owe it to Perseus to at least explain why I stopped talking to him all those years ago, why—"

"You soulmate's name is Perseus?"

"Yeah. Unless it was a pseudonym. I only told him half of my name, come to think of it."

"Pretty interesting name," she replies, in a subdued voice. "Go on."

She struggles to regain her train of thought. "Yeah, so. Uh, I owe to it him to at least meet him face-to-face and tell him why I stopped talking to him. I want to tell him about Percy, too. About how it's real, and how happy I am."

"And you're sure you're ready for this?"

"I think I am, now." She pauses. "You think it'll work out?"

"You can always pull out if you want to," Sally says. "And, darling, trust me. Percy will understand, and so will your soulmate." Annabeth can sense the smile in her voice.

"Okay," she says. "Thank you, Sally."

"Anytime, Annabeth."

Somehow her legs take her home, and she unlocks the door. Percy is sitting on the sofa, but he doesn't turn around to look at her as she walks in. His voice is a little forlorn when he calls out, "Hey."

"Hi," she murmurs, planting a fleeting kiss on the crown of his head and stealing a nacho from the packet that is in his lap.

"Watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," he says, holding out the bag to her. His arms are a little wet, like he's just washed them, and his forearms look pink, as though he'd scrubbed them really well. "Wanna join me?"

"Sure." She settles in beside him, and his arm wraps around her shoulders, just like any other day; he drops a kiss onto her collarbone. He shoves nachos into his mouth like he's trying to avoid conversation, a blush working his way high onto his cheeks. She watches him out of the corner of her eye for a while: he looks like an overgrown hamster, and it's really cute, but she her mind quickly wanders elsewhere. She turns away from Percy, only her eyes are not focused on the movie at all; they're staring into space, and, if possible, tomorrow, at her meeting with Perseus. She feels apprehension and frustration threatening to bubble over and destroy her facade, but, if she allows herself to look deep enough, there is also excitement. She's actually looking forward to meeting him, which makes her feel so, so guilty, like she's cheating on Percy or something.

There is one thing she needn't have worried about, though: she'd been sure that meeting Percy's eyes would practically give away the secret, but the whole evening, he hasn't really been making an effort to meet hers, either.

/

Annabeth is vaguely aware of a restless sleep, and when she wakes up she immediately regrets it: her skull feels like it's about to split open and the sunlight is too harsh to be welcoming. She pushes her thumbs into her eyes, groaning softy and deeply, before sitting up.

Percy stirs beside her, opening his eyes momentarily and then shutting them quickly again. She runs a hand down the stubble on his jaw; he leans in a little at her touch and then cracks his eyes open again lazily. Even with his hair falling into them, his gaze is steady; there is a soft edge to the way he is studying her face. He's got late practice today, she knows, so she murmurs, "You can go sleep, I'll be back for dinner," and he exhales, a little relieved, and then shuts his eyes.

She swings her legs out of the blanket, dispelling the softness around the two of them, stretches languorously, and then pads her way to the kitchen and makes herself a really strong coffee. She's at her desk in class less than an hour later, absently scribbling notes haphazardly on both her notebook and her hand. She feels like she is thirteen again, talking to her soulmate and trying not to be caught by a teacher.

Doesn't the aquarium close early?

Nah, they've extended the closing time this whole week, since it's the twenty-ear anniversary of its opening. We're good until midnight.

I'll be there at around eleven, she replies. I've got work.

Same.

See you. She takes out her phone next, cringing a little as she does so: this is the least she's ever listened in a class, and the new term has just started, too.

[From: Annabeth 10:09 AM]

hey, I think i'll be stuck pretty late at work today, you can eat without me. sorry :(

[From: Percy 10:09 AM]

lmfao i was literally just gonna text you

[From: Percy 10:10 AM]

i've got practice till 8 and then i gotta go meet jason anyway so i guess we'll both be late

[From: Percy 10:13 AM]

last one home's a rotten egg

[From: Annabeth 10:15 AM]

you're already rotten so

[From: Percy 10:20 AM]

RUDE

[From: Percy 10:20 AM]

okay gtg see you tonight

She switches off the phone; her cheeks are red at the lie, but she forces her guilt down. She'll explain it all to him tomorrow, when it's over. It'll be his birthday, too: she doesn't want to spend it with a secret hanging between them.

Somehow she gets through college and makes it to her workspace without crashing into a bus or something along the way — that's how distant her mind is. She tries to focus on the plans in front of her on the drafting table but ends up spacing out repeatedly all day, and it is almost half-past eleven when she finally pulls herself together and stands up to leave. Her muscles tighten in the tepid air; the sky has already faded from blue to a dark purple, and the streets are illuminated with light from neon signs and car headlights.

She reaches the aquarium — Perseus had been right, it's still open — and walks inside, looking around curiously at the displays. In the shifting lights, her skin glows an unearthly blue: she wonders if Percy would like the shade on her.

The people around her are mainly families and couples: Annabeth feels awkward standing there alone, trying to act as though the eel exhibit is the most interesting thing in the world. Feeling antsy, she gets out her pen and etches on the back of her hand: I'm here.

She rubs the words away as his reply appears. Me too. I'm walking into the conservation hall right now.

Her heart speeds up — that's where she is — and she turns around slowly, staring at the entrance to the hall. A few more people enter, all in groups, but right behind them walks a tall, lean man wearing a black hoodie. He doesn't notice her, walking instead toward the area opposite hers. She follows cautiously; there is something horribly familiar in his gait and posture. He stops, gazing upward at the rays floating gracefully among the reefs. His back is to her: as she watches, he looks down at his arm, like he's waiting for something.

Now or never. Annabeth's heart jumps to her throat as she steps forward on quaking legs: one step, then another. Her hand reaches out to touch him, almost out of its own accord, but a second before she's close enough to touch his back, he whirls around, and she sees a blur of sea-green eyes that mimic the water of the aquarium behind him and windblown black hair —

"Annabeth?" Percy whispers, and nausea fills her up to the brim, leaving her short of breath and dizzy.

"Percy?" Somewhere inside her she's hoping it's a mistake, it's a mistake, he works here, after all —

His eyes open wide, Percy yanks up the sleeve of his hoodie, takes out a pen from his pocket, and draws a long line from his elbow to his wrist. They both watch in morbid fascination as the same line etches itself on Annabeth's arm, and Percy says, "Fuck, what the fuck," then fixes his eyes on the ceiling and lets out a long string of more swear words that she doesn't have the heart to interrupt.

He stops after a while, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the way he always does when he's anxious. It looks like it's taking him a lot of effort to drag his eyes away from the ground and look at her. "Nice to see you here," he says in a joking tone.

She opens her mouth, but when no words come out, she closes it, teeth snapping together.

He holds out his hand. "Let's go home."

She can't bring herself to look him in the eye as she shakes her head fiercely. Her body twists back a step, and he follows her, pressing into her with a weary look on his face. Like he'd been expecting this, but that just agitates her further.

"Annabeth," he says softly, heaving in a breath, and puffs of air blow across her face and disturb her hair slightly. In the silence that follows, she listens to her own thudding heart, sure that he can hear it, too. His eyes rake across her face before fluttering shut; there's a single, endless second, where they're shuddering into each other's faces, and then Annabeth moves away from him and bursts into tears.

"Hey—" he moves forward to capture her again, but then stops, just watching — maybe in shock, because he's the more emotional one between the two of them — as she cries herself out, burying her face in her hands, until her body feels hollow and aching. Through her fingers, she sees that they're alone: everyone else must have been driven away by either the lateness of the hour or her sudden tears.

"Annabeth," he begins again, when her sobs have subsided, "I-I get that it's shocking, but—"

"No," she snaps, sniffling, "you-you don't get it, you don't." She shuts her eyes tightly again when she spots the matching lines up their arms, and she wonders, for the hundredth time, how she'd been so stupid. How she'd missed it. Because a million little things, a million tiny signs, might have told her the truth if only she had stopped to look.

His voice is laced with frustration. "Okay, fine. I don't get it." He picks at the material of his jeans. "I don't get it. I mean, we're soulmates, and yeah, we're gonna have to talk about it, but it doesn't really change much, if you think about it—"

"It does!" she cries, "It does! I-I..." and the fight goes out of her all at once, and suddenly it's hard to keep standing. "I stopped talking to you. I left you. I was so-so cruel, and-and you're just gonna pretend to be okay with that? With me?" The tears are threatening to fall again, and she wipes them away furiously. "Percy, I broke your heart! How can you possibly just expect me to forget what I did to you?"

"Look," he says. "Look at me." When she doesn't, he sighs in frustration and continues anyway. "Annabeth, fine, yeah. I was heartbroken for a little while, but now, like, I know your reason for not replying to me all those years ago, and I'm okay with it. I don't blame you, and I'm not pretending at all." She can see his hands, curled into fists, shaking a little. "And you know what? All the stuff you said about soulmates, about how most of them rush into things and stuff? That-that's exactly what I would've done."

He stops, takes a shuddering breath. She looks up at him, then snaps her head back down again as he goes on. "I'm glad we didn't get to know each other as soulmates. I'm glad we met as...different, unconnected people at first. Most people are soulmates who...who just happen to fall in love, but we're two people in love, who just happen to be soulmates." He lets out a small laugh. "Does that make sense?"

She shakes her head no. He snorts again. "Figures." He exhales slowly. "You've got to understand. It doesn't matter to me at all."

"It matters to me, Percy," she says, finally looking up at him; the tenderness in his eyes makes her knees weak all over again. "Even if you don't care, I don't think I can live with myself knowing that I was so horrible to you."

"You were young—"

"I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway." A stray sob leaves her even as she tries to swallow it down, and it echoes in the empty room, dangerous in the amount of space it dominates. "Just apologizing wouldn't even begin to be a start." She tries to say more, explain, but coherent sentences seem about as out of reach as Mount Everest, now, and silence descends over them like a thick, unyielding fog, until Percy finally replies, in a flat little voice, "So...this is over?"

"No," she says at once, "No. I-I just...I don't know." Her head is spinning. "I just, look. I can't forget what I did, and-and I'd do anything to take away all the hurt I caused you." And it's true. If Percy asked her to sing for him, right now, she'd do it. Badly and loudly, to any song in the world. She'd do it in a heartbeat, without a second thought. She repeats herself: "Anything."

"Okay," he says. She opens her mouth to speak, but he raises a hand. "No. Listen to me for a little while." He takes a step forward, toward her, then grabs her arm when she tries to shrink away. "You're overthinking this. As always."

"It's a habit," she snaps before she can stop herself.

His eyes widen a fraction, before narrowing as he chuckles. "See? See, this is why I love you, why we're so good together." He lets go of her and massages his forehead. "I'm not gonna deny it. This is messed up as hell, and if I were in your position, I'd be drowning in guilt, too. But I'm gonna tell you what I'm pretty sure you would've told me if you were in my shoes." He inhales. "You need to calm down, step back, and use your head."

She doesn't move, only blinks at him.

"I believe in soulmates," he says. "I believed in them as a kid and I still do now, but you've got to see that you helped me think otherwise, you made me happy when I was so convinced that only one person in the world could. And yeah, you ended up being that person, in the end, but it doesn't make a difference, because all we've done is do...everything—" He flaps his hands around him like he's dancing with an invisible person— "the wrong way around." Out of nowhere, he laughs. "We're so stupid, Annabeth. All — or at least, most — other soulmates...they spend their whole lives looking for each other, and then fall in love like it's an obligation, because they believe they're supposed to. We...we took the time to get to know each other, and even while believing we were meant for different people, we fell in love anyway. We took the long way to get where we're at, and, personally, I like that we did." He crosses his arms with a bullishly stubborn expression on his face. "And you didn't do anything wrong. You made a choice, yeah, and it led to all this...stuff, but honestly? I'm glad you did what you did. I'm glad I learned to love you in my own time, and not because it was the universe, or whatever, telling me to." The green in his eyes is a shade darker. "I guess...what I'm saying is, whether or not we were meant for each other is immaterial to me. I love you anyway, and that isn't going to change."

It is quiet, save for the sound of flowing water in the tank.

"Do you get what I'm saying?" he says.

She nods, and he lets out a sigh.

"For what it's worth," she mumbles, after another long pause, "I really am sorry for what I did. I don't think I deserve to be forgiven, but—"

"I told you, there's nothing to forgive—"

"—but," she ploughs on, and a watery little smile surfaces. "I'm glad we took the long route, too."

"Yeah." And suddenly there are tears in his eyes, but the smile he's got on is so relieved and so utterly, shamelessly happy that she finds that her own lips curving upward despite herself, despite the sobs breaking out of her chest again.

"I don't know whether to feel annoyed or honored at the fact that you lied to me to meet...me," he jokes in a low voice, and she snorts into her own hands.

"I can't believe I thought your name was Percival," she says.

"I told you, think more Greek. And my dad's name was Poseidon, too, what did you expect?" He grunts as he checks his watch and remarks, "Hey, it's past midnight."

"Happy birthday," she says cautiously, stepping forward, but he pulls her into a tight hug anyway; his unshed tears fall onto her shoulder, and hers onto his chest. She can sense his heartbeat thumping smoothly — ba-dump, ba-dump — against her own chest, and it's a nice feeling. His hair tickles her neck, still sticking up in all directions, and his breaths, slow and even, lift the ends of her curls. His eyes are closed, so she takes the time to calm herself by counting the freckles on his cheek. She likes noticing the small things. She'd like to go on noticing them forever.

"Annabeth," he murmurs.

"Yeah?" She lets him untangle himself and step back.

"There's kind of something I wanted to do today." There is an underlying tremble in his voice that sets her on edge all over again.

"What?" she asks. The look on his face is close to the one he'd worn right before he'd kissed her for the first time outside his apartment on his birthday, all those years ago.

"For our anniversary." He drops to one knee, and she inhales sharply, recalling what he'd written on her arm before: I'm even planning to propose soon, but he doesn't take out a little black box or anything: he withdraws a large ink pen from his pocket, the one he'd called Riptide, the one he'd taken from his old room last Christmas, the one he'd said he'd filled with gold ink. She doesn't understand until he uncaps the pen and begins to draw something on his free hand; she struggles to see what he's writing, but then her own finger begins to smart and she lifts it up to see, and then lets out a cry that is half shock, half joy, as she watches the gold ink begin to circle her finger in the shape and design of what can only be —

"Percy," she sobs. "Oh my god—"

—a ring.

"Funny part is," he says wryly, as he caps Riptide, "I came here to meet my soulmate today, to get closure, I guess, and afterward, I was gonna fill Riptide with blue ink, to symbolize moving on. Sounds a little dramatic now." He grins, gazing up at her like she's a drop of rainwater and he's a lost man wandering the desert. "And now I guess I won't have to. Funny how these things happen, huh?" His expression grows a little serious, then, as he holds up his own hand to clasp both of hers, and the rings on their fingers glitter in the dim blue light.

"Annabeth Chase," he breathes, "will you marry me?"

She crumbles, extracting her hands to wipe her face, which is all pink and blotchy from all the crying — seriously, she's never cried this much in all her life — and then an idea strikes her. She reaches into the pockets of her jeans, fishing around for what she needs, and finally extracting the old ballpoint pen she'd brought with her. She removes the cap with her teeth, and then begins to write on her left palm.

Percy's expression is one of confusion at first, but he looks at his own palm, his face brightening and an elated laugh bubbling out of him as the single word darkens into his skin, alongside a little star that started it all: Yes.

a/n: i need to be stopped before i write another soulmate au fic holy shit

review if you can; i love hearing from you all. i hope you liked this, thank you so much for reading!