We're not buds.

Yes we are. I think I'm growing on you.

Like a fungus.

I actually laughed out loud at that. 167's got jokes! Do you want to hear one of my classics?

Not particularly.

Why did the sand blush? Because the sea weed!

Wow.

I'll get there one day. How was your break?

Okay.

Get anything nice for Christmas?

I asked for a new locker. Santa didn't deliver.

You must have been a naughty girl then, 167.

...Going to ignore that
How was yours?

Pretty good. Hung out with my mom. I was working a bit, though, so not much of a break.

Yeah, Piper mentioned that you guys were working overtime to get it done over the break.

The grind never stops! Have to get out of your hair somehow, don't I? You should be glad, it means I'm gonna be spending less time in your locker during the semester. Admit it, you're a bit sad. Also, you know Piper?

She's a friend.

I was about to say small world and then I remembered that she attends Merriweather Prep too.

Are you still in school?

Yeah, at Goode, down the road.

Our opposition. I don't know if I can keep talking to you now that I know you're technically the enemy.

You guessed it. I'm trying to infiltrate the sports teams by cracking down the only person in the entire school who has a locker in the science department. You got me.

Okay, that was a strategic move.

I know, we've been over this, you ended up talking to me, it was kismet, fate, I've drastically increased your quality of life, yadda yadda yadda.

No, because it means I don't get trampled in the rush between periods. No one comes up here.

And because you ended up talking to me. You can admit it.

You're somewhat entertaining.

High praise.

You still owe me a proper ring.

Orange ring-pop.

That's not what I said.

I'm playing a long game.

"Get me a caramel macchiato," Thalia says. "Oh, wait, do I want a caramel macchiato?"

Annabeth sighs, tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she rifles through her bag for her purse. "I'm literally up next, hurry up and pick an order."

"Don't rush me! I'm thinking. You know what, I don't actually think I want a caramel macchiato."

"Next!" the barista calls.

"Thalia, I'm about to order."

"Give me time."

"I don't have time, I'm at the counter." Annabeth pulls an apologetic face at the barista, who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. "Just pick something, or I'll get you a cup of water."

"Even you're not that petty," Thalia says, but she hums contemplatively. "You know what, I think I actually do want a caramel macchiato. Get me one. With whipped cream. Also can you get me some shortbread?"

"Bye, Thalia," Annabeth says, and ends the call. To the barista: "Can I have a black coffee and a caramel macchiato, please?"

"Sure. That'll be five twenty-five."

Annabeth fumbles around in her purse for the money, and hands it over. The barista takes it like it is made of hot coals, pulling a distasteful face, and then tells her to wait at the end of the counter for her drinks to be made. Dutifully, Annabeth moves, still trying to cram her spare change back into purse, and has to pause against the wall and prop her bag up on her knee to free her hands. She's so focused that she doesn't notice a figure slipping next to her, so when a voice says, "Annabeth?" she drops her purse and her coins go skittering across the floor.

"Oh, shoot!" the person says, and they both dive down for the floor. When Annabeth glances up, she comes face to face with none other than Percy, crouched in front of her, trying to collect all her change before it rolls irretrievably under the counter.

"Percy?" she says in surprise.

He glances up with an awkward, guilty smile on his face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it's—" Annabeth catches a rolling coin flat under her palm like a fly, and when she back up he's smiling. "Sorry. It's okay. Hi."

"Hi," he says. "Uh, your money."

They both stand. He is an inch taller than her. She would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about him at all since that night: her mind has been preoccupied with other more pressing issues, but Percy and his ceaseless smile was a nice sunny corner she would sometimes visit whenever her brain got too dark and she needed to air out the cobwebs. In the daytime, out of the smudge of Piper's room, he is still just as bright. There's something so effortless about him, so weirdly charming, in the fidgety way he stands, the tick upwards of his lips as he smiles at her, his frenetic energy that should make her feel anxious but instead makes her feel anticipatory, waiting for what he has to say.

She realises she has been staring when she comes out of her reverie to find him looking at her expectantly. "Sorry, what?"

"Oh, no, just your coins."

"Oh," she says, and lets him tip them into her palm. Their hands brush, he is warm.

"Sorry again," he says, as he watches her put them into her purse. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hi. That was probably weird, I didn't even know if you'd remember me."

"Of course I do," she says. "The newest addition to Piper's entourage."

He grins at that, sparkly. "Let me guess: you're here on a spontaneous, unreasonably requested coffee run?"

"The sad thing is, I actually am," she says. "Though not for Piper, for another friend."

"Personal assistant to all. Your resume must be impressive."

"Employee's top choice."

"Would expect nothing less." He gives her a little nudge with his arm. He is so generous with touch, extending it to her even though they're virtual strangers. She finds that she really likes it. "Do you come here often? I'm surprised we haven't run into each other before."

"Oh yeah, you're at Goode, right?"

"Go Dolphins," he says, with a dorky salute. "And you're... Merriweather? With Piper?"

"The one and only."

He gives her a look. "Rival schools. What people must think, seeing us together?"

"If they knew my real motives, probably something like, 'wow, that Percy kid doesn't even know what's about to hit him'."

"Your real motives?"

"What, you didn't know I'm only befriending you to get information from the inside?"

He laughs. "Oh, yeah?"

"I've been orchestrating this all along. Piper's room? I knew you were there the whole time."

"How do you know that I'm not playing you, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I knew you'd be here," he says. "Thought I could get you to divulge Merriweather secrets over coffee."

"You think I'm that easy?"

"Are you?"

It's sort of a risky game, to flirt like this. Truth be told, Annabeth isn't sure if she wants to tug at this thread to see where it will lead. Well, that's untrue, she is sure that if she allowed herself she could like Percy very much indeed. But she doesn't know if she wants to: if she wants to let herself disappoint, or be disappointed, by another person, a person who is bright and sunny who will only be dampened by her. What will you do, she thinks, as she gazes into his smiling face, when I am empty and can't move from bed for three days? He has so much to give, and she has virtually nothing in comparison. No, this will never work.

But it's nice enough, to pass the time. "Depends," she says.

"On what?"

"If the boy's cute enough."

"Yeah?" Percy's properly smiling now, large enough that his eyes go all squinty, like green crescent moons. "And... hypothetically, if he looked like me?"

"Hypothetically?"

"The most hypothetical of hypotheticals."

In one of the alternate universes out there, she could maybe do something about this, in the universe where Thalia is ginger and her parents are still together. But she's not in that universe.

"I guess I'd consider it," she says.

Percy grins, but before he can say anything one of the baristas behind the coffee machine calls, "Annabeth" and slides two takeaway cups across the counter. Annabeth sees her out of the corner of her eye do a double take at the sight of Percy, and it's then that Annabeth realises that to her he may just be Percy from Piper's room, but to a lot of people he's Percy from Argo, and her heart sinks a little. She busies herself with properly shouldering her bag so she doesn't have to meet Percy's earnest, happy gaze, and slides the cups into coffee sleeves so she doesn't burn her hands.

"I'd better go," she says.

"The grind never stops for the personal assistant," he says, and she barks out a surprised laugh. "Enjoy your drink, then. I'll, uh... see you around?"

Oh, how she wishes. "Yeah, maybe."

He becomes distracted when his own drink gets slid across the counter, and the barista with it, leaning in to shyly ask if he's Percy from Argo and if she could maybe get a quick selfie, and Annabeth takes the diversion to quickly leave.

Like she could ever even entertain the idea of having someone as bright and beautiful as Percy. She takes a sip of her coffee even though it's still scalding, and lets it burn her tongue.

Malcolm is halfway through packing his suitcase when Annabeth gets home.

She pauses in the doorway of her room for a few silent moments, as she watches him fold his shirts. He hasn't noticed her yet. It takes her a few tries because her throat has suddenly closed up, but she manages to say, "What are you doing?"

He looks up. His face is tired. "Annabeth," he says. Just her name.

"You're leaving?" she says. "Now?"

"Are we gonna do this now?"

"The semester doesn't start for three weeks. You can't leave yet."

"Can you blame me?"

No. Not really. "But... you can't. We need you here. I need you—"

He's shaking his head even before she's finished speaking. "Don't say that."

There's a long pause. She can feel the migraine coming on again. "You're being selfish."

"And you're being unfair."

"How am I being unfair?"

"This isn't just about you."

"Since when have I ever made this about me?"

"You're been grouchy and sullen and rude ever since Mom and Dad said they were getting divorced—"

"That's not fair."

"What's not fair is you guilt-tripping me to keep me at home," Malcolm says, and she swallows, eyes wide. He notices, and sighs, and when he next speaks his voice is gentler, like he's speaking to a skittish animal. "I can't be here anymore, Annabeth. I'm going to suffocate. No one is happy here."

She feels tears prickle at her eyes. "We don't all have the privilege to just up and leave, Malcolm. Some of us have to stay here."

"You've got less than a year, can't you hold on?"

"What about Bobby and Matthew?"

"What about them?"

"They need you to stay here. I can't—" She swallows. "I can't look after them by myself. Please. I just—I need you, for a bit longer."

"You've been looking after them for a long time," he says, softly.

"You know that's not the same."

He sighs.

There is a long, long moment of silence. Annabeth grips her elbows so hard she's surprised they don't shatter in her hands. Malcolm just looks tired, sat on the edge of the blow-up mattress, surrounded by shirts.

"Can you just let me be selfish this time?"

She shrugs. "I don't think my answer will really change anything."

He smiles, wryly. It doesn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I know." And she does. If she were in his position, she thinks she'd do the same. She's always been a bit of a hypocrite.

"It's—it's all gonna be okay, in a bit," he says. "I know it sucks now but—I just can't be here, right now. And I know that's selfish but—I have to. You have to understand."

"I do," she says.

The smile he gives her is a little less damp. "Do you want to help me pack?"

"Not really," she says, because she still hates him, just a little, but she comes in anyway, sits down on the mattress next to him. He is wearing socks that she thinks are Frederick's. They must have gotten mixed up in the laundry: they are too stretched out to be his. They slip down his calves. He smiles at her, a little, and then hands her a pile of shirts that need folding. "Can I keep one?"

"Keep what?"

"A shirt."

"If you want."

She digs around in the pile for her favourite, a shapeless green one that sort of reminds her of Percy's eyes. Then she pauses, and takes another. This one is nicer, grey, a button-up that Malcolm always leaves popped open at the collar whenever he wears it. He frowns when he sees it.

"Not that one."

"I'm keeping this one," she says.

"But it's my best shirt."

"Then you'll have to come back for it."

He looks at her for a long moment, gaze unreadable, before he sighs. "Fine."

When he's not looking, she also slides out one of his books, kicks it under her bed before he notices. She's been needing something new to read at night, when she can't sleep, and she's spent enough nights lying awake, hearing him lie awake too, shuffling through the pages by the light of his phone, to know that it seems to work well enough for him.

Bonded through blood, bad parents and crippling insomnia. What a cocktail.

Her week only goes downhill from there.

Malcolm leaves in the evening, so for the first time in weeks she goes to bed alone. It shouldn't be a huge deal, she's always had her own room and it's never been a problem, but something about having Malcolm lying next to her, also unable to fall asleep, was comforting in its company. And it's not as though she was getting very much sleep anyway: but having someone who was going through the exact same thing as her, feeling as strangely untethered and as lost as her, was one of the things keeping her going. And now he's gone, and she's alone again, just creeping around a too-big house.

The twins become almost intolerable, too. She can't blame them for that, it's been a trying period for them all, but something angry and wicked inside of her wants to scream that this isn't any different from before, that Athena's been flitting in and out for years, started before they could even really comprehend otherwise, and she's always been gone more than she's been here. Her leaving now shouldn't be any different from all the other times she's left but for whatever reason it has made Bobby and Matthew menaces. They shout and snap and swear and don't eat their food and leave their plates in the sink and don't clean up after themselves, and Frederick is so passive he just lets them. Annabeth's blood boils as she watches him quietly skulk into the kitchen to clean up their mess, to the point where the morning after Malcolm leaves, she watches Bobby and Matthew purposely get crumbs all over the floor, and all at once her resolve breaks. She snaps, "Can you be more careful?"

Matthew sneers at her. "Why should we listen to you? You're not our mom."

Annabeth almost breaks her fork in half. "In case you haven't noticed, Mom isn't here."

"That's your fault," says Bobby, "cos you scared her away."

It's so mean of him that she horrifyingly feels her eyes begin to feel with tears, and she has to pinch herself to stop them from spilling over. No way will she give them the satisfaction. "Can you just shut up and eat your breakfast like a human being?"

"And can you stop being such a bitch?" Bobby says.

"I'll tell Dad you said that."

"If you do that I'll tell him you're stealing his pills."

She stares at him. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I saw you," Bobby says, and then stands up. Matthew follows suit. "You're being mean, I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Good riddance," Annabeth snaps, and then immediately regrets it when she sees the way that Matthew shrinks a little. She doesn't say sorry, though, because she's still simmering with anger and frustration, and she'd only managed to sleep for an hour last night so she feels completely dead on her feet. She just scowls down at her plate and waits until they've left the room before digging the heels of her palms into her eyes.

But then.

She gets to school, same as always. She manages to paste on a smile long enough to say hi to Thalia and Piper in the cafeteria, who are halfway through a game of Uno, and then heads to her locker. Her bad mood still permeates but what's been carrying her all morning is the thought of what her locker-mate has left this time, a dorky little note and maybe some candy, too.

Only that's not exactly what happens.

She opens her locker, and to her surprise finds it completely empty, save for a piece of folded up paper under the magnet. Something like dread festers in the pit of her stomach.

He's never not brought her books back since he started. She prises the note free, and unfolds it.

167 I am SO SO SORRY! I was using your notes during one of the scenes and then Grover accidentally spilled his grape juice all over them, I am honestly so so sorry! I tried to dry them and keep them from smudging as much as I could. I am so sorry!

The pit turns into something of a chasm.

She's turning on her heel and heading towards the reception before she can even think, her mind whirring. What could that possibly mean? He didn't... he didn't ruin her notes, did he? No, she tells herself, of course he wouldn't. He been nothing but good to her, he wouldn't do something like this. Even at the beginning, before they started this strange friendship, he would never go that far: never purposely defacing her things. He wouldn't do that.

Everything's okay, she tells herself. It's probably just a little spill, accidental: maybe a page is gone, she'll just have to rewrite it later. All her books will be fine. She just needs to stop panicking.

She reaches the reception probably in record time. Despite her self-reassurances, there's still something growing claws in her stomach, and it's hooked into the flesh of her diaphragm and climbing upwards. She swallows hard, and pushes through the door.

Hestia looks up when she comes in, and Annabeth immediately knows from her face that it isn't good. She doesn't waste any time with pleasantries. "Are my books here?"

Hestia looks pained. "Annabeth..."

Her pulse quickens. "What? What happened?"

Reluctantly, Hestia reaches down, and produces a plastic shopping bag, bulging with books. Annabeth takes it like a loaded gun, unsure on why all her belongings are being handed to her like wet clothes, until she looks inside, and feels her stomach drop.

Her notebook – the notebook filled with months and months' worth of notes, notes she's spent hours pouring over late at night when she couldn't sleep, notes that she needs – has been completely ruined. The front cover is stained a deep purple, smells acrid and strongly of grapes, soft like mulch and tearing. She carefully peels it open, and her heart sinks into her toes. All her notes are smudged, blurred beyond recognition, the pages sodden with juice and hours' worth of blue ink. They are curling at the edges as they attempt to dry, but it's not like it would make much difference.

They are completely, completely ruined.

"I am so sorry, Annabeth," Hestia says. "The boy was distraught bringing them here."

Annabeth can't speak. She thinks her hands are shaking. The last thing she really cares about right now is the boy.

"I didn't have a proper look at them," Hestia continues. "Is everything okay? I think most of your textbooks were unharmed."

Mechanically, and with hands that don't really feel like hers, Annabeth lifts the mess that is her notebook up. Thank God, the textbooks underneath are relatively untouched, some just a little damp from being in proximity to the notebook – but still.

"They're okay," she says.

"That's good," Hestia says. "He told me to say sorry."

Sorry. Like that means anything. Annabeth realises she is still holding his note in one hand, and she clenches her fist.

Hestia peers at her. "Do you... want me to tell him anything?"

"No," Annabeth says, "that's quite all right."

She turns and leaves before she can say anything else, the hand not holding the note almost strangling the plastic bag. She thinks she's shaking. The bell is about to go and she knows she'll be late if she doesn't start heading towards her class but she can't think about that now, she is moving on autopilot. She finds herself back in the science corridor, in front of her locker: she opens it, mechanically starts loading her textbooks back in it. Some are bone dry, some are a little damper, so she leans those against the radiator. Then she stares down at her notebook, ruined beyond repair, sodden all the way through, bleeding blue and purple water like blood, and feels her eyes prickle.

She rolls it up tightly in the plastic bag, and throws it in the trash. Then she unfolds his note, and prints a note of her own on the other side.

SCREW YOU SCREW YOU SCREW YOU Do you know how many months' worth of notes is in that folder? Are you that arrogant that you think that just because you're making money being a mediocre actor in some stupid web series that we can all just glide by like that? Some people actually have to work.

Her hands are trembling as she does it, and she realises as she finishes the last word that so are the letters: her eyes are filling with tears, and she blinks hard, angrily, trying to get them to disappear. But they won't, one treacherous tear slides down her cheek, so she scrubs at it, slams her locker closed, and rushes into the toilets before anyone can see her.

Only once she's locked herself in a cubicle and sat on the edge of the grubby toilet seat does she allow herself to cry.

This cannot be happening.

First, the divorce, then Malcolm leaving – and now this? She wants to scream. She has to physically curl her hands into tight fists, nails biting down into the skin of her palms, to stop herself from doing just that: and then, when that doesn't work, she brings her legs up to her chest, feet on the edge of the toilet lid, fits her eye sockets into her knees hard enough until she sees stars. She imagines that she is falling into a black hole and watching as the galaxies around her blur into streaks. She imagines that she is anywhere else but here: imagines she is in the alternate universe where Thalia is ginger and her family is okay and she is stable enough to flirt with a boy like Percy because she is not afraid of what will come after because she does not view love and happiness as a non-renewable resource, where she gets eight hours of sleep a night and her brain works and she can text Piper back every night instead of ignoring her phone.

She is angry and upset and for a moment she almost punches the cubicle wall. She comes so close, she feels her hand curl into a fist, her muscles bunch as she pulls her arm back, but then she looks down and sees the ridges of her knuckles, thinks of how easily they'd shatter, and feels a little ill. She has to slide off the toilet seat and hunch over the bowl instead because she thinks she might throw up.

It doesn't come, though. She just sits there, as the waves hit her, waiting to drown.

By the next day, her frustration and grievances have turned into anger. She'd been upset all of yesterday, come home with the mother of all migraines from suppressing tears all day, but she'd woken up this morning just irritated. She'd let some boy use her locker and borrow her textbooks, and then he was careless and ruined months of hard work. She's furious he even got a tear out of her.

She scoffs as she reads the latest note. I'm really, really sorry. Please. He is not worth her time, and half-hearted apologies like this simply won't cut it. For the first time in weeks, she doesn't write back a response, or fold it in her pocket, just crumples it up and throws it probably too aggressively in the trash can.

"Jeez," says a voice, and when she glances up she sees Piper and Thalia leaning against the locker next to hers. Piper is grinning at her. "Trouble in paradise?"

"What'd he do this time?" Thalia says, with a snigger. "Insult the binomial formula?"

Annabeth just rolls her eyes. "He spilled grape juice all over my notes."

Their smirks drop off their faces.

"Wait, seriously?" Piper says. "Were they okay?"

"Completely ruined."

"What a dick," Thalia says, with feeling. "Sorry I ever called him lover-boy."

Despite herself, Annabeth huffs out a laugh, and closes her locker. "Thanks."

Piper's face softens a little in sympathy, and she reaches out, takes her hand. "Are you okay? That must suck. You can borrow our notes if you want, to copy."

Annabeth smiles at her, her throat a little thick with gratitude. She's been a bit of a crap friend recently, she knows it, but here they are nonetheless, still offering kindness. "That would be nice," she says.

Thalia sniffs imperiously. "You can't copy mine, I worked hard on those."

"I wouldn't really want to," Annabeth says, and Thalia flips her off.

"Screw you, I have great notes."

"You don't even know what the binomial formula is."

"Is that going to better my life in any way? Didn't think so."

"Well, you can have mine any day," Piper cuts in, "just let me know" and Annabeth squeezes her hand. She really doesn't deserve friends like her. "Anyway, I actually have kind of exciting news for you."

Annabeth raises her eyebrows. "For me?"

"Yep." Piper looks all too smug. She should never be allowed access to information that other people don't know about, she has far too good of a time lording it over their heads. Hearing her dangle details about Argo over Thalia's head is only entertaining because it doesn't concern Annabeth in the slightest, but now she's curious. She waits expectantly, as Piper stands there grinning like a loon, clearly having far too much fun with this. "Do you want to know what it is?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Percy asked me for your number."

That is not what she's expecting at all. "Percy?"

Thalia glances between the two of them. "Who's Percy?"

Something has crawled into Annabeth's chest and made itself comfortable between her ribs, and she can't discern whether it's a good or bad feeling. "Well, what did you do?" she says, feeling strangely untethered.

"I gave it to him, obviously." Piper peers at her. "Come on, I thought you'd be happy about this."

"No, I am, I am, I just—" Annabeth's head is spinning. Percy, bright, beautiful Percy, wanted her number. It could just be purely platonic, of course it could, but something in the back of mind just knows that it isn't: that he likes her, or likes the idea of her anyway, and wants to get to know her better. Something breaks in the recesses of her chest at the thought, that she's going to have to let him down. How can she ever possibly be good enough for someone like Percy? "No, really, thanks. That was nice of you."

"Uh, hello?" Thalia says. "Who's Percy?"

"Percy Jackson?" Piper says. "You know him, he's on Argo with me. He plays my boyfriend."

Thalia's expression clears in realisation. "Right. The beard."

"He's not a beard."

"I just know that your character is a lesbian, don't lie to me." Thalia tilts her head, thinking. "I guess he's pretty cute. Is he after your hot ass, Chase?"

"Of course he is," Piper says, sounding offended that she could possibly insinuate anything otherwise.

"He probably just needs a safe space to bitch about Piper," Annabeth says, trying for levity, to clear the cavern in her chest. "We bonded over how much of a drama queen she was."

"Uh, rude," Piper says, and jabs at her in the ribs. "I'm being a good wing woman and hooking you up and this is how you repay me?"

Annabeth swats her away. "Okay, you don't actually know he likes me."

"Not this again," Thalia says. "Jeez, you straight people are exhausting. I thought we were done with this sort of crap once Piper got her act together with Hot Bookstore Boy."

"You know his name is Jason," Piper says.

"He will always be Hot Bookstore Boy to me."

Piper turns to Annabeth. "And of course he likes you, Annabeth, why else would he have asked for your number?"

"To be friendly?"

Piper's ensuing eye-roll is so theatrical Annabeth is surprised they don't roll right out of her head and onto the floor. "Okay," she says, in a voice that says she's merely indulging her. "Wait until he texts you, and then you'll eat your hat."

"I don't have a hat."

"I'll buy you one for the occasion. A big one, with bows. Besides," and this is punctuated with a hip bump that is a lot less delicate in practice then it probably was in theory, because Annabeth collides sort of noisily with the locker, "now that Locker Boy is absolutely out of the picture, Percy can be your rebound."

Annabeth is the one rolling her eyes this time. "Locker Boy was never a plausible love interest in the first place."

"I mean, I was sort of rooting for you," Thalia says, with a shrug. "Not now, obviously, he's a dick, and you have my angry lesbian Spotify playlist if you ever need to let out your hatred for men to deal with that, but I thought it was pretty cute. Also hilarious, because trust you to fall in love with a boy between your textbooks."

"Whatever," Annabeth says. "Don't you have a class to be going to? Or not going to?"

Thalia just laughs merrily. "Don't deny it! I know were secretly hoping for a love story like no other, you and your cute love notes."

"No, really, Thalia," Piper says, "I think you have Geography now."

"Oh, shit, you're right," Thalia says. "Later, losers."

They both watch her disappear down the stairwell, hearing an echoey curse as she presumably trips over something. Annabeth huffs out a laugh, and when she turns to Piper, she sees her still looking at the empty stairwell with an amused look on her face. "Oh, Thalia," Piper says. "What will she do without us?"

"Probably world domination," Annabeth says. "I think we keep her bloodlust somewhat restrained."

"You're right." Piper looks at her, then, leaning against the locker. Her eyes are soft. "Hey, are you... sure you're okay, with me giving Percy your number?"

"What? Yeah, of course." Piper still looks unconvinced, so Annabeth takes her hand, squeezes it. "Piper, seriously. It's okay. I just—was surprised."

"Clearly you left an impression."

Annabeth feigns humility and tosses a curl over her shoulder. "I always do."

"Yeah, not in a good way," Piper says, "normally they just think, wow, what sized stick does she have up her ass—" and Annabeth digs her fingers into her ribs, where she knows she's most ticklish. Predictably, Piper cracks up giggling, and tries to twist out of her grip. "Uncle, uncle! I was just kidding, you're the most relaxed, un-uptight person I ever know—"

"Uptight!" Annabeth says, because that has some nerve considering it is coming from Piper, and she wrestles her into a headlock as Piper laughs, and for a few moments she forgets all about Percy and his smile and how much she wishes he won't text her, just to save her from the pain of having to say no.

But he does.

[22:46] Unknown: Is this the Piper McLean PA help desk

[22:47] Unknown: lol just kidding, I know it's Annabeth haha. It's Percy, I got your number off Piper, hope that's okay :P I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to grab a coffee with me sometime? I still haven't put my half of my evil usurping-Merriweather plan into fruition yet.

Her heart clenches reading it.

He's just so earnest, is the thing, and it saddens her that she's going to have to decline like this. She wonders what his face would look like. Would he be sad? Would his face shutter down, his smile falling off for the first time, or would he not care, has his fingers in so many other personable pies that her rejection will barely glance off him? She's not sure what would hurt more. Maybe she doesn't want to know, after all.

[22:51] Annabeth: Hi. I'm really busy at the moment, I don't know if I can.

[22:51] Percy: Are you sure? I'll even throw in a chocolate muffin for you

[22:53] Annabeth: I'm not interested. Sorry.

[22:55] Percy: Oh

[22:55] Percy: Oh right

[22:56] Percy: I'm sorry, didn't mean to bother you

She switches off her phone with a sigh and rests her temple against the window. It's for the best, she thinks to herself: but if that's true, why does it hurt so much?

The next morning, Annabeth is in a foul mood: there are no breakfast bars left – there's not much of anything left, she needs to do a grocery run – and then when she goes to reluctantly wash a bowl for cereal, she finds the sink is already cluttered full with the dishes from last night. It takes everything in her not to break something right then and there, so she just reads her head against the cupboard above the sink and tells herself to breathe deeply.

It only gets worse from there: she snaps at the twins so harshly that they both stare at her with wide damp eyes, looking a little scared, and Annabeth is too twisted up to have it in her to apologise. She just says coldly, "Wash your plates" and then stalks out of the house. Then, at school, after the customary hellos with Thalia and Piper in the cafeteria, Piper asks if Percy's texted her yet.

"Who's Percy again?" Thalia says, through a mouthful of fries.

"You're aware it's eight in the morning, don't you?" Piper says to her.

"People eat hash browns for breakfast. This is basically the same thing."

Piper gives Annabeth a wide-eyed, fondly exasperated look, like get a load of that, and Annabeth manages a grimace back. All she can think about is Percy's text from last night, the simple oh in response. She's tried not to think about it but she can't help it, not now that the floodgates have opened. He sounded almost... disappointed. Though that couldn't have been true.

"And Percy's Annabeth's potential beau," Piper says, "keep up." She turns her traitorous prying eyes on Annabeth. "Well?"

Annabeth takes a deliberate sip of her coffee. "What about him?"

"Did he text you? Because I actually did bring a hat for the occasion."

Annabeth hesitates a little before she swallows, trying to buy time to come up with an excuse, but, by the looks on Piper and Thalia's faces, it's clear that they aren't willing to sit around for her to fabricate a lie, so she just swallows and says, "No."

"Damn it," Piper says. "Boys. They all need a push in the right direction. Don't worry, I've got your back, Beth. I'll do some subtle encouraging today during filming."

Annabeth manages a smile. It was the most paper-thin of lies, and as soon as Piper asks Percy about it she's going to find out the truth, but she can't bring it in herself to care. She can deal with the questions tomorrow. At least today she's managed to buy some time.

The bell rings before they can say anything else, and they pick up their things and head to their respective classes. Annabeth practically floats through it in a daze, unable to properly process anything: she needs another coffee, and pronto, if she's going to make it to the end of the day without collapsing. During lunch, she texts Thalia and Piper a half-hearted lie about tutoring one of the freshmen and ducks out of school, heading towards the coffee shop.

She's so in a daze that she doesn't properly see where she's going, and when she turns to head through the door she suddenly bumps into a body directly in front of her, sending her phone clattering to the ground. She feels her eyes fill with tears, just so frustrated and fed up, and for a moment simply closes her eyes in defeat, letting out a shaky exhale. Today cannot get any worse.

Apparently, the universe seems to take that as a challenge, because as she crouches down to pick up her phone, wincing at the damage – a shattered screen, damn it – she becomes aware of the person she bumped into doing the same, and then—"We really need to stop meeting like this."

Oh, come on.

She reluctantly raises her gaze to see Percy awkwardly crouched in front of her, offering her a small smile. His eyes are a little hesitant, hopeful, and just far too earnest, so she quickly looks down at her phone. For those eyes, there is little she feels like she wouldn't do: they make her almost want to split herself down the middle, spill her viscera over the floor.

"Percy," she says. "Hi."

"Hey." His smile is so, so careful.

She has to look away before she starts blubbering like a baby, instead just scrubs hard at her eyes. "Hi," she says again, clears her throat when it comes out thick. "I mean— Sorry, I just—"

Immediately, he says, "No, I'm sorry, God, is your phone—"

They look down at it: her, sort of inanely. Cracks scuttle across the entire screen, and Percy lets out an appropriate wide-eyed wince.

"I am so sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to—I can pay for it, if you want—"

Annabeth just wants him to go away so she can sit and cry. "No, it's fine," she says, "it's fine."

"It's broken."

She stands, a little too quickly, feels her vision momentarily fuzz out, and clenches her hand tight around her battered phone. She feels the glass shards cut into her hand. "It's fine," she says again, "just—it's fine, I can still use it." She turns it on, just to show it can, and it flickers to life. The cracks fragment the smiling faces of Piper and Thalia, her lockscreen.

Percy glances down at it, then at her. His gaze is earnest and concerned.

She exhales, hard. "Sorry," she says, finally. "Bad day."

"Been there," he says, sounding like he's aiming for levity, and when she risks a glance up at him he's giving her a wry smile. "I'm probably not helping, am I? Sorry, I should—"

Of course. Because the last time they spoke she turned him down. "Oh," she says.

"I should go," Percy says.

"No," she says, "you— This is a public place."

"It's okay," he says, "no hard feelings, right?" This isn't right, it isn't a genuine smile. She didn't know he could do that. Did she do that?

"Of course not," she says, "just—"

"Yeah?"

"I mean," she says, "I didn't mean—" Horrifyingly, she feels her eyes begin to prickle with tears. God, she has been crying so much. She is pathetic. She tries to blink them back but she is too late, she has been holding in too many recently and she is like a cloud over a valley, pregnant with rain, ready to pour, so she brings her hands to her forehead to fight off the impending headache, hide her eyes. "Sorry."

She can't look at him. Probably doesn't need to, to know that he looks concerned. "Are you... are you okay?"

"Bad day," she squeaks out again. Even she wouldn't believe it. She takes in a hitching breath. "Sorry, just—"

She risks a glance at him, and his eyes are wide, uncomfortable. "Are you sure?" he says. "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

He sounds so awkward that despite herself, a wet laugh escapes her, and she feels a tear roll down her cheek. "You don't have to sound so eager about it."

"I'm sorry!" he protests, and she manages another laugh. "I don't know what to do. I don't really know what's going on."

Join the club, she thinks. "More like a bad week," she admits.

His gaze is cautious. "We can... talk about it, if you want. My counsellor says that it's probably really helpful."

"You have a counsellor?"

"Sure," he says simply. "We can maybe go to a park?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she says. "I turned you down."

He winces. "Trust me, I remember."

"You don't owe me kindness."

"I broke your phone," he says, "and you're crying."

"M'not crying."

"You seem like maybe you could use an ear now."

And she should say no. She didn't turn him down because she didn't like him, she turned him down because she did, painfully so, and she didn't want to let this beautiful, smiling boy into life when she could barely keep herself together most days. But his eyes are so earnest and his compassion feels almost unwarranted and even though she is sure the universe has never liked her very much, this feels a lot like a do-over. If she says no now, she will not get this again: she would be a fool to think kindness means compliance.

And she supposes she's always been a little selfish.

"Okay," she says quietly, and Percy's returning small but so very beautiful.

They end up at a park a few minutes away from the café, Percy having bought them both coffees, and sit on a wooden bench on the very fringes of it, overlooking the grass. They are still climbing out of the claws of winter so it is relatively empty and a little grey, and when Annabeth exhales her breath forms coffee-flavoured clouds, but the sky is clear, and crocuses are beginning to peep their yellow heads out of the grass. There is one near her feet, and she toes at it; the petals unfurl, a tight dark bud revealing itself. Spring is coming. The air is damp with it.

"Do you ever feel like a bad person?" she says.

Percy takes a sip of coffee. "Sometimes."

It's not the answer she expected. "Really?"

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"You just seem so settled."

Percy snorts. "You are the first person to have ever used that word about me."

"I mean comfortable," she says. "Like, in yourself." He is not physically settled, she has noticed that he is never entirely still. There is something nice about it: it doesn't register as anxiety on him, but more excitement. "I'm still trying to—get to that."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs, supremely uncomfortable. She hates talking about herself like this, it makes her feel like the flesh is being stripped from her bones, and she hates being viewed as weak. "Don't know. Being a good person."

"I think you're a good person," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "You don't really know me."

"Well, you must be something of a saint if you can put up with Piper," he says, and she huffs out a laugh. "No, really though. She clearly thinks so, if you're friends."

Annabeth turns her coffee cup in her hands. "I don't know. It's not that. It's hard to explain." She glances at him. "Why do you feel like a bad person?"

"I don't know. Sometimes there are just days where you think—wow, as a fundamental human being, I kind of suck."

"Because you do bad things?"

He sighs. "I guess so. Sometimes not, though."

She thinks about this. "I don't think you suck."

He grins at her. "You don't really know me, though."

"Don't throw my words back at me."

"Sorry," but he doesn't sound sorry, so she just rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee. He put too many sugars in it, she doesn't normally like it this sweet, but it's nice enough. "Is that—I don't know, the crux of your bad week?"

She raises her eyebrows. "The crux?"

"Did I use it right?"

"The crux? What century are we living in?"

"Don't feel threatened by my intellect," he says, and it sort of startles a laugh out of her, a big booming one she doesn't think she's let out in a while, and Percy looks so pleased with himself that she has to turn away. "See?"

"That's got nothing to do with your intellect."

"Made you laugh, though."

"Don't get a big head. It's not hard."

"Not hard? Excuse me, you are most stone-faced of audiences. I will be living off this for the next week."

"You're so weird," she says. "People must think you're some handsome, elusive actor but you're just weird."

"Aw, you think I'm handsome and elusive?"

Her ears go pink. "I mean—objectively. Whatever."

"Objectively," he mimics. "You know how to flatter a boy, Annabeth Chase."

She pauses, and then glances at him. "You know my full name?"

Percy suddenly looks like a deer in headlights. "Uh. No?"

"You just said Annabeth Chase."

"Lucky guess?"

"How do you know my full name?"

Now it's his turn to go a bit red. He blows out a breath. "Well," he says, "I, uh—looked you up."

"On the Internet?"

"Yes, Grandma, the Internet."

She sits back, processing this. "Oh." She supposes she'd known that Percy liked her at least a little, enough to want to get coffee with her, but—this is sort of shedding a new light on him. He looked her up. He probably went through Piper's Instagram and found all the pictures with her in them.

He likes her.

"I'm sorry," Percy says, "I realise that was—sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

He looks supremely uncomfortable. "Well, 'cause—you. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Cause I what?"

"You turned me down." Annabeth's face must do something because he immediately hurries to add, "And that's completely cool! I get it, I respect it, I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's—" She pauses, licks her lips. "I didn't—realise."

"Was me asking you out not a big enough hint?" he asks, a little dryly. "Because next time I can get a jumbotron."

"Not—that. Kind of. It's just—you don't really know me."

"Well, yeah." He shrugs, a touch self-consciously. "I wanted to. That's kind of what a first date's for."

"But—what if you don't like what you find out?"

She can feel his eyes on him like a brand. "Is this more 'bad week' stuff?"

Annabeth keeps her eyes down. "It's just—" The words stick in her throat, so she swallows, determined to make them come out. "You're an actor. You're—you. And I'm—me."

"Astute," he says, though his voice is gentle. "But you realise that, like—I know that?"

She sighs in frustration. "No, of course you do, it's just—"

"No, as in, I know that you're you. I know that you're—you know, whatever you are."

"Human."

He gives her a rather impressive bitch-face, which she laughs at. "Thanks for the clarification."

"Sorry."

"No, it's—" He sighs, a little thoughtfully. "I know a bit about you. And I thought it was—" He coughs, ears pink. "Kind of rad."

She watches him, carefully. "But you might not think the rest is."

"I doubt that."

She's shaking her head before he's even finished speaking. "Don't say that."

"What?"

"That's—it's not fair. You don't know that. You don't know—what if I'm actually a really terrible person and you hate me? What if you find out I don't recycle?"

"Everyone recycles."

She exhales in frustration. "That's not the point, Percy, you just—" She closes her eyes, briefly. "You can't promise stuff like that. You don't know that you're going to like everything you find out about me. It's not fair."

When she opens her eyes, Percy is watching her, carefully. "But you turned me down," he says, softly. He sounds a little confused. Annabeth feels like her ribs are caving in on themselves. "You—so it doesn't matter."

He looked her up online. He asked her out for coffee – and then again, even after she said no. Fate has never been kind to her but she thinks this time, it has extended a mercy.

"Well," she says, aiming for light, even though she sort of feels like she's ripping herself apart, "maybe—I was wrong."

Percy's expression flickers. "If this—Annabeth, if this is just—"

"No, it's not, it's not, I'm sorry, I—" She looks down at her coffee cup, and then thinks she can be brave, and looks at him instead. "I mean it. Really."

Percy's expression is almost heartbreakingly hopeful. "Yeah?"

"I've never done this before," she says. "I'll probably be—garbage."

"Me neither," Percy says. "I mean, me too. Garbage, all the way around."

"And, um." She picks hard, at the plastic lid: only this time, when she feels it begin to slide under her nail, she releases, because if she can let Percy be kind to her, maybe she can start doing the same. "We'll go slow."

Percy lets out an obvious exhale of relief. "Yeah. Please."

She has to laugh a little. "Why are you nervous?"

"I don't know! Because—this is happening."

He is really beautiful. "You're cute," she says.

"Don't patronise me! I'm excited."

"I'm not patronising you. You are cute."

"You're cuter."

She gives him a look. "We are not arguing about this."

"Yeah, 'cause you know I'll win."

She rolls her eyes.

"Sorry," Percy says, though his excited grin says he's really anything but. "Slow. You're right."

"This is weird, right?"

"A little. But also pretty awesome."

She glances at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're excited."

"Of course I'm excited," he says, "a cute girl's going on a date with me."

"Okay, hold on," she says, "we did not agree to a date."

"Indirectly."

"We said slow."

"Friendship date."

She gives him a look.

"What?" he protests. "I can do friendship date."

"Really?"

"Okay, no," he allows, "and the sexual tension between us will probably be off the hook, but—"

"Oh, God, you really just said that."

The look he gives her is far too smug. "Yeah, but it's okay, because you think I'm cute."

"I don't—" she starts, but then she sees the smile on his face, and her protests die on her tongue. "Maybe a little."

"For the record," he says, "I think you're cute too."

"Don't sweet-talk me," she mumbles into her coffee. "It's not attractive."

"I'm always attractive."

"Are you always this insufferable?"

"Just around cute girls," he says, and she has to smile at that. "Sorry. I just—I'm excited."

"Slow," she reminds, but mainly for herself, because her heart has started pounding.

Percy is nodding. "Of course, of course, yeah. Slow." He looks like he's fighting the urge to get up and dance. "How about... friends first?"

"Yeah?"

"So then there's—none of this commitment, you know? A test run. We get to know each other and decide if we hate each other. Like, if I find out that you don't recycle. Or you like the Red Sox."

"You don't like the Red Sox?"

Percy gives her a look. "Annabeth."

"Joking."

"You're aware that would have been a deal breaker, right?"

"You're so dramatic."

"Actor."

Annabeth turns her head to hide her smile. He is so stupid. "Friends sounds good," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He holds out his hand. "Come on, pinkie promise."

"We're not ten."

"Pinkie promise! It seals the deal."

She rolls her eyes, but links their pinkies together. His hand is warm from where it's been wrapped around his coffee, and she wonders what it would be like to properly link all their fingers together. For the first time in a while, something winged like hope takes off in her chest. "Weirdo," she says. "Is the deal sealed?"

"I think so," he says, and squeezes, just a little, before they let go. "Are you... feeling a little bit better?"

Annabeth had completely forgotten about her sour mood. She looks down at her broken phone in one hand, and everything comes back: Malcolm, the twins, her ruined notes. Just the reminder of it plucks at a thread of irritability deep in the recesses of her chest, but it is dulled now, lessened by the veneer of her afternoon with Percy. "I am, actually," she says. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he says, and he sounds like he means it, too. "I should be going."

"Yeah, of course—"

"Got a project I need to finish," he says. "Would rather be hanging with you, though."

She feels her ears go hot. "I thought we were doing friendship."

"I meant it platonically," Percy says, a little smugly. "Not my fault you took it the other way."

Sweet things have always sounded romantic to Annabeth, especially when coming so genuinely from a boy like Percy. She rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says. "Have fun."

"I will," he says. He stands, and then belatedly she does too. "I'll, uh... text you?"

"Yeah," she says. "That would be nice."

"Cool." He's smiling. She thinks she is, too. She doesn't know if she can stop.

"Cool."

They just stand there, only inches between them. Percy's hair looks soft: this close, she could probably count his eyelashes, and when he breathes, she can smell the coffee on his breath, sugary, just like hers. There is a flutter in her stomach and she realises that it is excitement. She can't remember the last time she has been excited in a while.

"See you around, then," Percy says, finally. He doesn't look like he wants to leave, either.

"Yeah, see you."

For a few moments, they stand there, looking at each other, until after what feels like years Percy lets out a puff of air and takes a step backwards, and Annabeth suddenly feels like she can breathe. "Okay," he says, half to himself, and then nods at her with a small smile that lights her up on the inside, before turning away. She watches him leave, and as he does a little shimmy to himself and then almost trips over a pinecone something like elation fills her chest.

Infinity scares her, but out of the millions and millions of alternate Earths out there, she is in the one where she likes a boy who likes her back. She smiles.

It is a good feeling to know that for what feels like the first time, the universe is on her side.

There is a note in her locker the next morning.

There hasn't been a note in a while: since the half-hearted apology, she's pretty sure. Annabeth would never admit it, but she's missed her locker-mate a little, and seeing a folded piece of paper on top of her books has her heart skip a beat in her chest. She reaches for it, but then something else catches her eye, and she pauses: an unfamiliar notebook, tucked in with the rest of her things.

She frowns.

He has left many textbooks, but never a notebook.

She glances at the note, and then pulls the notebook out instead.

Inside the front cover is scribed property of locker 167, but she can't pay attention to that, because on the page opposite are lines and lines are blue ink, written in an unfamiliar scrawl. She flicks to the next page, and the next, and the next, and each one is filled with writing, each in the same hand, sometimes changing between colours, with sloppily-done diagrams and wrinkled, faintly purple worksheets that have been glued in like they will run away if they aren't.

At first, she can't properly comprehend what she's seeing. He... left his notes behind? This handwriting certainly doesn't belong to her. Then she looks closer and starts recognising key words, formulas, diagrams, starts recognising her own handwriting on some of the worksheets, and something clicks in her mind.

He rewrote her notes.

Trembling, she flips through the pages – so many pages, how long did this take him – something almost hysterical filling her chest with every double spread that is revealed. He must have found her notebook in the trash when she threw it away and salvaged it.

She doesn't even know what to think. She is rendered genuinely speechless.

This almost complete stranger, someone she wouldn't even recognise on the street, voluntarily spent hours of his free time copying out her notes for her, when he very easily could have not, and entirely without consequence. She doesn't know who he is, he doesn't know who she is.

What she does know is that this is the single most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for her. She traces one of the diagrams he's done, and then glances at the note still lurking in her locker.

Mechanically, she reaches for it, and unfolds it.

I tried to salvage all I could. I'm not very good at school so I had to get my friend Grover to fact-check a lot of this because your ink was all smudged and I wasn't sure what some of the words were, but I did what I could. I think this was everything. I'm really, really sorry, 167. Hope this helped a little. x

She doesn't know what to think.

She looks back down at the notebook in her hand, at the hours of effort he put into making her life a little easier. Then, carefully, she tears a sheet out of the back.

I don't know what to say.

The next morning, there's a response.

I'm taking that as a good thing?

This is the nicest thing someone has ever done for me.

It's the least I could do.

Annabeth fingers the note, her mind whirring. She needs to do something for him in return, thank him in any way she can so he knows just how thoughtful it was of him. Think, think. What she can possibly do for him? She doesn't know him. She supposes maybe she could leave him some candy like he's done for her, but that doesn't feel big enough: what's a single jolly rancher when he rewrote her notes for a subject he doesn't even like?

Then she has an idea.

When Annabeth was ten, Athena left for the first time, and instead of dinner Frederick came home that night with a book. Annabeth had always loved Math, always been good at it, but that book was the first time she'd ever properly discovered its use in space, saw how it could be applied, how it was used in the real world outside of architecture and proscenium arches, and she remembers being raptured for weeks as she read it cover to cover.

Looking back, she doesn't think Frederick realised it was less of an encyclopaedia like he'd probably initially been expecting and more of a textbook – the answer bank at the back was a bit of a giveaway, as well as the example working-out on most pages – and for a ten-year-old, quantum physics was probably not considered 'light reading', but though she didn't understand most of it, it was the single most fascinating thing she'd ever come into contact with.

She hasn't touched it in years: mainly because she doesn't care for quantum physics in the way ten-year-old Annabeth did, or thought she did, much prefers more solid Math, Math that doesn't dissolve like sugar in water as soon as you leave the atmosphere, because from that book was borne her curiosity but also a crippling fear of insignificance and infinity that still plagues her today.

But she thinks she knows who could use it.

At the end of the school day, she slips it in her locker.

So you don't have to keep borrowing textbooks.

The next morning, it is gone, and in its place is a goofy little doodle, of a cartoon boy clutching a textbook to his chest with a smile on his face. Annabeth smiles just looking at it, and almost subconsciously her finger strokes the lines of the drawing, feeling the indents where his pencil pressed in.

So maybe he's not half-bad.

Something changes, between the two of them.

As opposed to before, where Annabeth would only respond occasionally, and solely because he goaded her into doing so (You don't write your name on the insides of your textbooks? Are you asking to lose them?), and their conversations would be nothing more than surface-level jabs about him leaving crumbs in her locker, or her correcting the answer key in her Calculus textbook, they now talk every single day. It's like a switch has been flipped: instead of just an annoying presence she had to tolerate, her locker-mate has weirdly become one of her closest confidants. She knows that most of it is due to the fact that the notes allow them to preserve at least an illusion of anonymity, so she doesn't have to know who she's talking to, doesn't have an image to preserve because to him all she is is a locker, but she's content to sit behind a smokescreen because it works. It's one of the reasons she stoutly now refuses to watch the show: because she might see who's using the locker, and have the illusion ruined.

She hadn't planned on treating him like a walking diary, initially. After she gives him the textbook they fall back into their pattern of essentially him being annoying and her tolerating it, but then one day he mentions that the candy of the morning hadn't come from catering but instead the sweetshop his mom works at, and Annabeth inquires after it. She does it mostly out of politeness, because it's not the first time he's mentioned his mom (and every time he does he draws little hearts around her name, which is admittedly adorable), but then his answer piques her interest.

It's the BEST. Free candy anytime, is not that not the sweetest deal? (pun unintended) No but she's doing it on the side, she's actually in publishing.

Has she written anything?

Not yet, but she wants to. It'll be pretty cool because then she can write a character based on me and make him devastatingly handsome. She's only sort of recently started entertaining the idea, my old stepdad wasn't super supportive of it.

Why not?

And so he tells her of Smelly Gabe, his mom's ex-husband. The note is long, longer than usual, and wrinkled a lot, like he kept nervously folding and unfolding it, or like he crumpled it into a ball, wanting to throw it away. Up until now, it's been easy to view him as an abstraction instead of an actual person, but reading over the note, understanding just how vulnerable it is, breaks her heart, a little. They've never talked to each other about deep things, it's all been relatively light-hearted, but this admission feels like a step in the right direction, like he is extending a hand to something she can't quite yet understand.

Still, she knows how big this must be for him: there are thumbprints either side of the page, smudged into the lines, like he held it in sweating hands. The note ends sorry, that was probably a bit of a downer, lol, let's talk about movies, and she smiles wryly at it.

It's okay. Thanks for telling me. That sounded really hard. I'm glad you're okay.
I don't really watch a lot of movies. I can tell you heaps about war documentaries, though. Dad watches probably an unhealthy amount of those.

Why am I not surprised? Also, you don't watch movies? You should be careful saying that to an actor, you can give a guy a complex. Luckily, I do, so here's a list of movies you should absolutely watch.

But from there, something shifts. They still talk about baseless, silly things – the crabby bus driver that morning, opinions on the latest Netflix flick, favourite fruit juice brand – but sometimes, he'll slip a note saying filming was sort of hard tonight, or she'll slip one first, my parents are getting divorced and I don't know how to feel. Annabeth tells him things she's not ever told anyone, because for some reason printing her problems in tiny letters on a piece of paper and closing it away in a locker, without consequence, makes her brave in a way that she can't be around Thalia and Piper.

How pathetic, she thinks, that I can tell a stranger I have never met more than I can tell my best friends.

In her real life, the custody battle between her parents comes and goes. It is settled relatively quickly: neither want Annabeth and the twins, but Athena spends most nights in hotels or on a plane, so they end up with Frederick. No one's surprised, really, but the twins are oddly silent on the car on the way back from the courthouse, and Annabeth sits in the passenger seat with her temple against the window and waits for a meltdown. It doesn't come, surprisingly: instead, as they are pulling into the driveway, Bobby says, "Does this mean we won't see Mom anymore?"

Annabeth meets Frederick's gaze in the mirror. He glances away. She is suddenly so, so tired.

"No, we will," she says. "Just not as much."

Bobby nods, chewing at his thumbnail. Matthew says, "I want to stay with her instead."

She sees Frederick physically flinch away, like he's just been struck, and she clenches her jaw. "Well, you can't," she says coldly. "So stop being babies."

"I hate you," he says, and it's not the first time, recently, so Annabeth just sets her mouth in a straight, exasperated line and steps out of the car.

That night, as she is sitting in the windowsill, she opens up her contacts, and hovers her thumb over Athena's name. She doesn't particularly want to call her, but she didn't stick around in the courtroom to hear them hammer out a visitation schedule, so she's sure that however many times Athena will visit, it won't be a lot. She's not sure if she cares. Mainly, she's worried about the twins, and since she knows Frederick won't say anything, she has to be the one to nag her into coming.

She stares at the contact for a longer time, her finger dangerously close to the call button, before finally sighing and switching off her phone. The next morning, she leaves a note.

The divorce was finalised yesterday.

Are you okay?

I don't know. I feel just sort of apathetic. Like I don't really care.
Is that bad?

I don't think so.

Really?

When my mom divorced Gabe I was so relieved. I hated him. I was so glad he was gone.

That's different, though.

I guess. But you don't owe them your emotions, or whatever. Your mom doesn't sound like a stellar woman, I'll be honest.

I just don't know what to feel. I just feel tired. Maybe a bit relieved, like I'm glad it's over. I just don't know what to do.

That's okay.

I know.

When Mom and Gabe got divorced it was weird. I couldn't sleep for a long time. Mom went to therapy, for a bit. I didn't think I needed it but then one time she brought me along and it helped, a bit. I still go, sometimes.

You do?

Yeah. I didn't realise it mattered that much, having him around? He only hit me once. But I guess he didn't treat me very well, either, and I never knew my real dad, so he was sort of meant to be the replacement, and apparently having the only father figure in your life treat you terribly has long-term consequences. Who knew.
Sorry, that was probably a bit of a downer. I'm doing much better now. Promise. Didn't mean to get all depressing lol

It's okay.
Sometimes I can't sleep, either.

Because of the divorce?

I don't know. It's been going on for a while, even before the divorce. Though I guess they've been sort of mentally divorced for a long time. I've been taking sleeping pills and they kind of work but they sort of make me feel awful. I've gotten around three hours a night this past week.

Jeez, and you're still doing well in school?

Not really. I got my first C. Which I know isn't bad but, I don't know.
Sorry, I know that sounds really stupid to complain about.

No, it's okay.
Is it stress?

I don't know. Sometimes your brain just doesn't stop talking.

I get that.

You do?

Therapy, remember?

Right.

It was worse when Gabe was around. Now it's gotten better but there are just nights.

I just feel so pathetic. Nothing's wrong.

Your parents got divorced.

They've been technically divorced for years, this is just making it legal. You had your stepdad and I've got a friend who lives alone whose mom comes in once every blue moon just to get drunk and ask for money, and I can't sleep for what? I hate feeling like this. I think my friends know something's up. They keep asking what's wrong but I don't know how to tell them because I don't know what to say.

You could probably talk to them. Talking always makes things better.

Now you sound like a therapist.

Good to know those sessions paid off in some way.

Haha.
I don't know. I'm not sure I can, to my friends. I don't know why.

Well, I'm here.

I don't want you burdened with my stuff.

I told you about my abusive stepdad and you're worried about your stuff?

I always feel like I'm just complaining about nothing.

I can go first: yesterday, they didn't have any cookies in the cafeteria, and I was a bit bummed.

That's stupid.

Are you invalidating my feelings, 167? Come on, complain. Safe space. Open forum. What happens in the locker stays in the locker.

You are such a weirdo.

Open expression!

I accidentally dropped my chapstick this morning and now it's covered in lint and it kind of sucks because it was the only one that didn't dry my lips out.

Good! I'm wearing the same pair of socks two days in a row because I forgot to do the washing and now I'm probably gonna get athlete's foot.

I hurt my knee on a table and now it hurts.

I feel really lucky that I have this job at Argo but it's sometimes really tiring.

My dad hasn't left the basement in three days and I have to look after my brothers.

I'm scared that I'll turn out like Gabe. That he somehow wormed his way into my DNA.

I'm sometimes so afraid that I can't leave my bed.
I've never told anyone that before.

That's okay.

Thanks. For listening.

Anytime.

Piper is talking to someone on her laptop when Annabeth slips through her window.

She looks up when she hears her come in, offers a beam and a, "Hey, Beth!" as Annabeth drops to the floor and pulls off her sneakers. Piper doesn't look particularly busy, though frankly that isn't indicative of anything, mainly because Piper is very selective about what she chooses to concern herself with (a while ago, she had FaceTimed her at ten pm wanting to show her a magic trick she'd learnt, as though they didn't have an important exam the next morning), but when she waves her on the bed Annabeth reckons that she's not interrupting anything wholly important.

"Hey," she says, dropping down on the mattress next to her. "Who you talking to?"

"Just Percy," Piper says, and Annabeth's heart skips a beat in her chest. Oblivious, Piper angles the laptop towards her, so she can see Percy on the webcam, lying on his bed, chewing on a pen. He startles a little when he sees her and pulls the pen out of his mouth so quickly Annabeth hears it almost go flying across the room. "Say hi."

"Hey," Annabeth says. She can feel a smile twitch at the edges of her mouth, and she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep it from escaping. She feels weirdly shy: it's the first time she's seen him since the park. They've been texting a lot, but she forgot just how lovely his face is. Luckily, Percy seems just as flustered, and nods at her, eyes sparkling as he badly tries to suppress a smile.

"Hey," he says.

From out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth notices Piper's eyebrows come together, and her glancing between the two of them, so before she can put any more pieces together Annabeth quickly turns to her and says, "So, what are you guys doing?"

Piper narrows her eyes at her, but thankfully accepts the segue. "We're reading over the big break-up scene," she says. "Chiron just sent it through, asked for our input."

"And how's it looking?"

"Pretty good, actually." Piper flicks up a Google tab, hiding Percy's face onscreen, and shows her the email. "Was a little disappointed that I wouldn't get my big bitch-slap moment, but I suppose we must all make sacrifices."

Percy cracks up. "Bitch-slap? You're the one breaking up with me."

"Uh, yeah, and it wouldn't have killed you to be a little homophobic so I could clobber you. It's also sort of my coming-out scene," she clarifies to Annabeth, who just blinks. "Percy unfortunately takes it very well."

"What can I say," Percy says, "I'm a gentleman." Annabeth can't see his face but she can imagine the smile, and her chest warms. "Instead I just cry."

"He's not kidding," Piper tells Annabeth, "he does a lot of crying in this scene."

"It's apparently meant to be good for you," Annabeth says.

Piper pokes her shoulder. "And you'd know, wouldn't you, as our resident healthy coping mechanism girl," and Annabeth sticks out her tongue.

"Well, I think I'm probably going to achieve immortality at this rate," Percy grumbles. There is the sound of a keyboard tapping. "How is it you only shed a tear? This is your big moment."

"Yeah, but I'm the love of your life."

"No need to rub it in, jeez." Piper minimises the tab and Percy's face comes back onscreen, and Annabeth can see him intently frowning at something on his own screen, typing.

"What are you doing?" Piper says.

"Sending a politely-worded message to Chiron asking if I need to start tearing up literally after the second line."

Piper snorts. "Good luck trying to convince him of that." Percy rolls his eyes affectionately and then pulls his laptop closer, eyes flickering across the screen as he presumably pulls up his emails. Piper takes the distraction to turn to Annabeth, squeezing her hand. "Hey, babe," she says, softly enough that the microphone won't pick it up, "everything okay? Sorry about all this, I didn't know you were coming over."

"No, it's fine. Everything's good."

Piper smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to see you."

Piper grins broadly at that. "Flatterer," she says, but Annabeth can see she's genuinely pleased. She waves a hand at her laptop. "Well, you can hang if you want, though I probably won't be super great company. Me and Percy will be a while, have to iron out all the kinks and whatnot. You can put on Netflix or something, if you want. Or—" Realisation dawns on her face, for some reason, and she makes a frustrated noise, smacking her hand against her forehead. "Oh, shoot, I was meant to lend you my notes for you to copy, wasn't I? I'm so sorry. Do you still need them? You can copy them now."

Annabeth's eyebrows come together for a few moments, not understanding, before she finally realises what Piper's talking about. Right, her notes. That feels like so long ago. She lets out a laugh. "No, don't worry."

Piper squints at her disbelievingly. "Really? Because if you're just trying to politely worm your way out because you think my notes are inferior then may I say, I have maintained a solid B—"

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "No, seriously. I don't need them anymore."

Piper gives her a suspicious once-over. "Okay, what? Why do you look so shifty? Did you cast some dark spell to fix them?"

These theatrics. "You'll never guess what my locker-mate did."

"What?"

"He rewrote them for me."

"Seriously?"

"Swear it!" Annabeth says. She can sort of see how one gets drunk with power when regaling information like this: it's very intoxicating. Wow, she really is turning into Piper. "I opened my locker and there was a brand-new notebook in there, with all my other textbooks, so I pull it out, and it's just filled with writing. All my notes! He must have found my old notebook in the trash when I threw it away."

Piper looks floored. "How long did that take him?"

"I have no idea."

"Jeez." Piper flops on her back and stares up at the ceiling. "That's the single most romantic thing ever."

Annabeth is suddenly very aware that Percy can probably hear everything. "It wasn't romantic," she clarifies quickly, glancing towards the screen, trying to make him understand: but Percy has gone strangely still. She frowns, for a moment thinking that the screen has frozen, until she says, "Percy?" and he jerks like he's just been stung.

"Huh?" he says, sounding a little strangled, and then he clears his throat. "Sorry, what were you saying? I didn't catch that."

"Nothing that concerns you," Piper says, "don't worry your funny little head. Did you finish emailing Chiron?"

"Uh—yeah, yeah." He still looks a little pale, though that could always be the harsh lighting from the lamp by his bed. He shifts, uncomfortably. "Yeah, I did, we'll just have to see what he says."

"I bet you'll just get an email back being like, hi Percy, respectfully, I disagree. Thanks, Chiron. Bet you ten whole dollars."

"Wow, ten dollars," Annabeth says.

"Whatever." Piper waves her off. "Perce, any more notes? Should we do a read-through, just to make sure it flows well?"

"Uh." Percy clears at his throat, shifts. "I actually, uh, just remembered that I've got a lot of homework I need to do, so..."

"Oh." Piper looks a little surprised, but she nods. "Oh, okay, yeah. Have fun. Call me later?"

"Yeah, of course." Percy's eyes flick to Annabeth, and even though he still looks a little off, the small smile he gives her softens his whole face, and Annabeth warms to her toes. "Uh, nice seeing you, Beth. I'll text you?"

Annabeth has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling and nods. "Yeah."

"Cool. Bye, guys." He gives a dorky little peace sign, and then the screen goes black. When Annabeth glances at Piper, she's frowning a little.

"That was weird, right?" she says. "I wasn't imagining that?"

Annabeth shrugs, trying to pretend that it's not slightly niggling at her too. "I mean, I guess. I don't know."

Piper glances at her, and Annabeth feels her mouth go dry, but before she can make any more excuses, Piper is turning to face her properly, completely ignoring her laptop. "Okay, spill," she says. "And don't say that it's nothing, because there were some serious energy exchanges happening just there and you weren't even in the same room. What's going on with you two? Did my matchmaking actually work?"

"There's nothing going on," Annabeth protests, a little weakly, but Piper clearly isn't having any of it, because her eyebrow raise is nothing short of utterly scathing, and Annabeth acquiesces. "Okay, maybe there is, but—"

Piper grins. "I knew it!"

"But we're taking it slow. Just—friends. We're getting to know each other."

"You like him, though."

And Annabeth can't deny that. "Yes. Very much."

Piper's eyes actually mist over. "Oh, Annabeth."

"Don't get sappy," Annabeth warns, "we already cried when you recounted your date with Jason."

"Because it was the single most romantic thing to have ever happened and none of you will ever top it," Piper says, but she obediently wipes at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'm just so happy for you."

"You big baby," Annabeth says: she's only half-serious, though, and dutifully lets Piper pull her into a cuddle. "This is why I don't tell you anything."

"Someone has to be happy for you. God knows you won't."

Annabeth smiles a little into her jumper, feeling her own eyes get a little damp. Piper's one of the most dramatic people she knows: but she's also one of the most thoughtful, and so, so generous, with everything. She reminds her of Percy, in that regard, and she says as much.

Piper smiles at her. "Yeah?"

"Don't get a big head."

"You told me I remind you of the boy you like. In what universe am I not going to get a big head?"

Annabeth rolls her eyes and tries to move away. "Whatever."

"No, no, come back." Annabeth puts up a half-hearted squirm for a few moments, before giving up, and collapsing against her shoulder. "How so?"

"I don't know. You're both kind. And drama queens." Piper grins at that. "You're both really... open, you know? I don't know how to say it. I've always been sort of jealous."

"Really?"

"You're just so brave. I'm working on that, I think."

"For Percy?"

"He makes me want to be brave. He is so... unafraid, of what he feels. And I'm trying to—do the same. Be a bit more like that." She pauses. "But I'm not doing it for him. If you get what I mean."

She risks a glance at Piper, who is smiling at her softly that Annabeth is afraid she's going to start crying again. But instead, she just reaches out and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. "I get it," she says. "We don't let men dictate what we do with our lives." Annabeth snorts. "Okay, but seriously, though. I'm really happy for you. You know that, don't you?"

Annabeth thinks of every single time she's come through her window for something, usually something bad, because her bed and her room and her unequivocal kindness has always been a safe space for her. Her local universe. It's a small spot where infinity doesn't feel so scary, because nothing can get them here. So yeah, Annabeth knows it. She squeezes her hand, and Piper squeezes it back, and she thinks of later tonight when she gets home, what she'll text Percy, and what he'll text back.

"Yeah," she says, "I know."

The next week, there is a teacher's conference that means everyone gets to go home early. Thalia's only driving force seems to counting the minutes to when she gets to leave school, so she'd known this in advance, and they'd planned a movie night, but then life got in the way, and between Chiron scheduling an extra-long shoot because it won't go dark as fast and Thalia's wealthy dad stopping in to take her to dinner, they had to cancel.

"He is such a scheming bastard," Thalia fumes, as they head out of school. "I wouldn't be surprised if he picked today of all days because he knew I had plans."

"I doubt he cares that much," Annabeth says.

"No, he thrives off dysfunction," as though she does not also. "He probably got his secretary to do it. I've told you my conspiracy that he's involved in underground CIA dealings, right?"

To be honest, Annabeth would not be surprised if this was true, only because the only time she has ever met Thalia's father, it was eight in the morning after a sleepover and he was already wearing a full-piece suit, and he had looked at her so witheringly when she shyly asked if she could get past him for the cereal that she'd nearly swallowed her tongue and instead just took an apple. However, Thalia is also second only to Piper for theatrics so Annabeth just says, "It wouldn't have worked, anyway, not with Chiron scheduling an extra film shoot with Piper."

Thalia sighs. "You're right. Shame, though, this would have given us an excellent chance to stay behind and watch, maybe catch her in the cheerleading uniform."

"I feel like you should develop some productive hobbies. Like knitting."

"My only hobby is vengeance."

"I've heard macramé is meant to be pretty good."

Thalia rolls her eyes at her, but before she can say anything an expensive black car pulls in front of the school, the engine purring. Annabeth does not need Thalia's exasperated sigh to know that it belongs to her dad, because if she had to imagine Zeus Grace as a form of automobile it would probably look something like this. In comparison, Thalia would probably be a clunky motorcycle missing a wheel.

"Damn," Annabeth says, with a low whistle. "He even got you a chauffeur?"

"He's called Argus," Thalia says darkly. "He doesn't talk." She throws her backpack over one shoulder. "Well, I guess that's my cue. Tell Piper I said bye, yeah?"

"Will do," Annabeth says, giving her a quick hug. "Good luck with your dad tonight. You'll be fine. Just order the most expensive thing on the menu and spill your drink everywhere."

Thalia gives her a sharkish grin. "Who do you think I am?"

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "See you later."

"See you, girlie."

She watches her hop down the rest of the steps to the car, which has already garnered a few looks from other students, and throws open the door and slides into it with the petulance of a child, to which Annabeth has to suppress a smile. Just as the engine roars to life and it starts to leave, Annabeth feels a hand land on her shoulder, and when she turns Piper's just appeared next to her.

"Hey," she says, "did I just miss her?"

"Yeah, her dad sent a driver."

"Lucky bitch," Piper says, but a little ironically, because they both know it's not really a good thing. She takes her hand. "Hey, by the way, are you doing anything now?"

"Now?" Annabeth frowns. "Uh, no, I don't think so. Why?"

"You should stay, for filming, tonight."

A smile spreads across her face. She's never been allowed to before. "Yeah?"

"If you want."

"Will I get to see you in costume finally?"

It's a joke, and Piper is nice enough to huff a little at it, but she squeezes her hand. "Yeah, but... this is Percy's night, tonight."

Oh. Annabeth pauses. "Yeah?"

"I think he'd like it if you were there."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Annabeth hasn't really taken the time to think what life is going to be like now that she and Percy are dating. Are they even dating? They text, almost every night. She knows that's important. But watching him act like this, being offered to come on set for no other reason than just to sit and spectate, feels intimate, in a way she's not really sure she's comfortable with yet. But Piper is giving her an imploring look and Annabeth thinks how nice it would be to see him again, the way he would smile at her, and the way it would fill her tummy with butterflies. She squeezes Piper's hand and says, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

Piper grins at her. "I'm glad."

"Will I at least see you in the costume?"

"Regular clothes for me today," Piper says, because she is nothing if not devious. Annabeth would not be surprised if the cheerleading costume was just a mind-game that Piper used to goad Thalia and wasn't real at all. "Come on, let's go."

It's being filmed in park right behind the school, the one Annabeth, Piper and Thalia used to go to make daisy chains and get stoned, respectively. It's become a tradition for the seniors to eat lunch in it during the summer, when the flowers have bloomed and the trees start to grow green fringe, but in the winter it's deserted. Even now, in the wisps of spring, Annabeth can sort of see why: everything is still a little grey and crisp, the trees bleached and naked, covered in tiny green shoots, trembling in the faint wind. There are daffodils beginning to emerge in the damp grass, though, and she smiles a little at it. Dead, and sealed in frost: but a little hopeful, too.

It's too cool for T-shirts but not cool enough for jackets, so Piper gets changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Annabeth has never seen her wear something like it before; it's not drastically different from her usual attire, but different enough that Annabeth feels a little uncomfortable looking at her. For the first time, she thinks she can see how Thalia stands to watch the show: in these clothes, Piper is a whole new person.

Percy is stood talking to a man in a wheelchair when they approach, Piper still holding Annabeth by the hand. He doesn't see them until they're only a few feet away, and he only notices Piper at first. "Piper," he says, and the man in the wheelchair turns too: and then he sees her. "Annabeth?"

"Hey," she says. Suddenly, she feels a little shy. Is she allowed to be here? Will Percy find it weird?

But Percy's giving her a look like he's happy she's here, and she feels her racing heart settle. She smiles back, hesitantly.

The man, greets them both warmly, introduces himself as Chiron, the director. He takes Annabeth's hand between both of his own and looks at her in the eyes when he does so, and gives her a twinkly-eyed smile when she says that she hopes it's okay that she's here. "Of course," he says. "You can sit with me, if you would like."

His kindness feels almost undeserved. "Thank you," she says, a little hesitantly. He just nods at her, and then turns to Piper.

"Miss McLean, a minute, if you don't mind?"

They take a step away, as Chiron presumably takes her through notes for the scene, leaving Percy and Annabeth standing by themselves. Now that they're alone, Annabeth feels a little braver; steps closer, dares reach out to take his hand. "Hey," she says, a little softer. Just for him.

"Hi," he says, just as quietly, properly links their fingers together. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"Piper asked if I wanted to tag along. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course!" His face is so beautifully earnest. "No, yeah. I'm glad. I'm glad you're here."

It's enough to make her feel a little brave, too. "Me, too."

Luckily, his eyes go impossibly soft. "Yeah?"

"Don't fish, it's not becoming."

"I'm always becoming," he says, but he squeezes her hand, uses his other to press his thumb to a stray curl that's emerged from her ponytail. "I missed you. Too long, since we last saw each other."

He is so unafraid, how he says it. "We texted last night."

"Yeah, too long."

She has to smile at that. "You're sweet."

"That's me." He swipes a thumb across her hand, back and forth, and it's a small gesture but it's enough to drain any remaining tension left in her body. "Are you staying?"

"If that's okay."

"Yeah, of course. Always okay." His thumb moves once, twice. "Um, just—I may not be super great company for a bit, afterwards."

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "This one's a bit of a sad one so I might take a while to—decompress. Get out of his head. If that's okay. You don't have to stay."

"I'll stay," Annabeth says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course. Always okay." She is teasing, but only a little.

They smile at each other. Percy's thumb traces the ridge in her knuckle, before finally slowing to a stop. "I should probably go," he says.

"Yeah, sorry. Do your broody actor thing."

He smiles. "My broody actor thing?"

"What's it when actors immerse themselves? Method acting?"

"Method acting? Like Judd Nelson?"

"You think you're like Judd Nelson?"

"Hey, you said it, not me."

"You're more like Anthony Michael Hall."

"Obviously I'm the wrestler."

"The wrestler? Really?"

"And you can be the goth girl."

"Don't they end up together at the end?"

"Then it fits."

She rolls her eyes to hide the flutters in her tummy.

He squeezes her hand, and then takes a step back. "I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Yeah. Break a leg."

He smiles at her as he walks away. "Always."

She watches him go. She doesn't think she's ever felt like this before: they've only known each other for a short while but she can't really think of anyone outside of Thalia and Piper whose company she's enjoyed so much. There's something so almost achingly sincere about him, so wholly unself-conscious about it. She knows they're both still a little shy about this, whatever this is, but she doesn't know how he can be so unafraid to be so open. I missed you. She wishes she could be so brave. She wishes she could tell him that she hasn't stopped thinking about him.

She looks around for a place to sit, thinking she can perch against a wall, maybe a bench, then she can at least get some schoolwork done, but then from across the park she catches Chiron's eye, sat in his wheelchair behind the camera, and he gestures for her to come over. In all honesty, she hadn't thought he was being serious, thought he was just being polite, but this unwarranted kindness makes something in her throat clog. It's been a while, since someone has been so thoughtful.

She goes over, anyway, and he gestures to a stool beside his wheelchair. The grass is knotted thin beneath her feet, but there are some rogue weeds that have emerged from the frost that hang by her ankles; she tugs at one until she feels it unearth, twists it around her fingers. Chiron is talking to one of the cameramen when she arrives, but the conversation quickly wraps up, and he turns to her.

"Thanks for the stool," she says.

He simply smiles at her, warmly. He has eyes that look thousands of years old, weathered, like an old book. He reminds her of the good parts of her own father. She can see why Piper theorises that he's immortal. "Of course," he says, simply. For a few moments, they just watch as Piper and Percy talk quietly between themselves over a copy of the script, a few feet away, so Annabeth turns her feet inward, thinking the conversation is over. But then, after a minute, he says, "Do you have an interest in television, Annabeth?"

She's a little surprised. "Not really," she confesses. "I'm more into Math."

"Science?"

"A little bit. Maybe physics."

"Ah, physics." Chiron nods. "The universe. What a magnificent creature. She does what she wants."

"Yeah."

Chiron smiles at her, like she's just passed some sort of silent test. "You just sit back and enjoy, Annabeth."

She manages a smile back, and then he turns to the cameraman next to him and starts talking to him about angles. She looks back out at the set, where Piper and Percy have now split, at opposite sides of the park. She's has never been on a TV set before, never even given much thought to how these sorts of things are made, but watching this now feels nothing short of beautiful. She has no context for this scene, doesn't know about the relationship between Percy and Piper's characters, other than that they have had an awkward sex scene and Piper's character is most probably a lesbian, but even just watching them both psyche themselves up for it, Percy sat on the bench, Piper out of frame, feels strangely intimate. It's incredible, how Piper just transforms in front of her eyes; tucks herself in, hands pressed either side of her ribs, hunches over. Unbidden, Annabeth's eyes flick to Percy on the bench, and something in her clenches as she watches him get himself into character, fold himself inwards too. She can almost see the life leave his eyes.

They're consummate.

"We'll run it through fully," Chiron says to them. "Then we'll redo certain moments. Is that okay?"

They both nod.

"Action."

It is almost surreal, just how easily they can slip into someone else's skin. Annabeth watches them run it all the way through: it's a long scene, almost six minutes, and most of it is spent just sat in silence, trying to find words, but she is engaged for every single moment. Her homework remains untouched in her bag. By the end of it, she feels tears prick a little at her own eyes, just watching them both sit there on the bench, a careful few inches apart, quiet, filled with something like finality. When Chiron calls cut she starts a little, half having forgotten she was watching a performance, but to her surprise Piper and Percy don't move much, just stay where they are: the only inkling they give that they've heard him at all is the small inclination of their heads towards him.

She frowns a little, watches as instead of them coming to him Chiron wheels himself over, the script balanced in his lap. He talks them through moments, she can't make out much of what he's saying, just that he is careful not to get too close, like he doesn't want to encroach on their space, and then after a few minutes, they nod, and he comes back over.

"Why are they still sat down?" she says to him, when he parks himself back next to her.

Chiron smiles at her. "They're still in character."

Oh. Annabeth hadn't thought of that. Her eyes flick to them again, watches as Piper moves back across the park to her starting position, and then at Percy, still on the bench. She is too far away to properly see but she knows that he is crying a little: it's not a surprise, only a few weeks ago they'd been joking about it, but if she thought that would cheapen it, she was wrong. Instead, her heart twinges.

She loses track of how many more times they run the scene, over and over, "Percy, this time, look at her when she sits down", "Percy, this time, don't", "Piper, take your time", but by the time Chiron is content and calls a wrap, the sky is beginning to smear pink and her feet are numb. She stands, blows into her cupped palms to try and regain feeling, and watches as Piper dramatically keels off the side of the bench. Percy manages a small laugh, and Annabeth smiles a little, watching them. She takes a step forward, but then Piper starts heading her way instead, so she pauses, and waits.

As soon as she's close enough, she pulls her into a hug. "You were brilliant," she says. "I didn't know you could do that."

Piper smiles. It's a little thin, eyes exhausted, but it's genuine. "Thanks for coming, Beth."

"Of course. Are you good, getting home?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just need to fall asleep for approximately the next forty-eight hours." She squeezes her shoulder, and then turns to Chiron, who is sat next to them, watching her with an amused, fond look on his face. "How'd I do, Boss?"

"Wonderful, as always, Miss McLean," he says, and Piper practically glows. They fall into conversation, but Annabeth lets it fade to the background as her eyes scope out Percy, who is still by the bench, talking to one of the extras. He is facing away from her but even just admiring the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, she feels herself warm a little, knowing that he is bright and lovely and hers. Piper must catch her staring, because when Annabeth glances back she has her eyebrows raised, and she blushes a little. Piper just rolls her eyes and gestures with her head, so, with one last hug, Annabeth gratefully heads over.

"Hey."

Percy looks up when she approaches, tiredly. His eyes are dull but something in his face softens when he sees her. "You stayed."

"Said I would, didn't I?" She hasn't seen him like this before, completely drained. She thinks, I can be brave like him, and offers a hand. "Let's go home."

"You don't need to, Annabeth."

"I know," she says simply, "I just want to spend time with you."

She sort of feels like she's flaying herself open. She hates being like this, letting herself be cracked open enough for him to have access to her soft vulnerable parts where he can strike. But it is worth it for the small smile he offers her. It is nothing like the smile he gave her before, bright and open, but even dampened, he is still lovely to look at. He hesitates, for a moment, and then takes her hand: slowly, belatedly, like he is still coming online. This is okay. She lets him take his time, lets him stand up, then squeezes his hand. They are stood very close, and she wants to touch his face. Then she realises that she can, and pauses, because that's coming on too strong; then realises that she should, because Percy is still slow-moving, still sluggish, still caught between himself and his character. She tentatively presses a thumb to his cheekbone, it is tacky with drying tears, watches his eyes flutter as he gets used to the feeling. She remembers the days when sometimes she feels like she can't get up, like there is something on her chest and she doesn't have the energy to even open her eyes, so instead she just puts her head under the pillow and keeps her curtains drawn and hopes for sleep. One day it was like this and Thalia had come over, and to her surprise she'd just lain next to her, on her phone, and when she'd finally emerged from the covers, Thalia had simply wordlessly laced their fingers together, let her slowly regain feeling bit by bit in the space where they were connected. She can do this for Percy. She can.

"Yours?" she says, softly.

A beat. And then Percy nods.

They wave goodbye to the crew and get on the train, sit side by side. Annabeth wants to put her head on his shoulder but she is not brave enough for that yet: so she takes his hand, like Thalia took hers, and rubs her thumb across the back of it, watches his eyes slowly become more and more alert. Then it's their stop, and they get off, quietly, swipe out of the barriers, and head to his apartment. They don't talk, not on the stairs on the way up, not as Percy unlocks the door, not even as they take off their shoes and move quietly to his bedroom. He moves to his bed, then pauses, uncertainly next to it, so Annabeth sits on it, and after a moment, he does too, then lays down. She looks at him, the long, capable line of his body, and puts her head on the pillow next to his.

They are nose to nose. She can see a faint splash of freckles across his nose. He probably has a close-up to her smudged makeup. She wants to swipe her fingers under her eyes, scrub away her smeared mascara, but they're too close for her to do it without bumping into him, and she doesn't think she wants to move away just yet.

"Hey," she whispers, suddenly shy. She's never been in a boy's room like this before, on his bed. She doesn't know what to do. Is this the part where they have sex? She doesn't think she wants to have sex right now.

Luckily, Percy doesn't either. He smiles a little, barely reaching his eyes. "Hey, you," he says, his voice barely louder than hers. His eyes are tired but warm when he reaches out, traces her eyebrow. He touches her with such wonderment, like he can't quite believe she's here. Like he's the lucky one.

Annabeth thinks every night to herself how she managed to attract someone like this, and he has the nerve to look at her like that. Like she's worth something. Sometimes it's so intimate she wants to close her eyes.

She doesn't, though. She lets him touch her face, and then, when his hand falls on the pillow between them, reaches out, gently circles his wrist, presses two fingers against his pulse. She can feel it, slow and reassuring, through the pads of her fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he says, after a long moment. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"This sort of sucks. Usually I'm cool."

"You're never cool."

"I'm always cool." He closes his eyes. "I wanted to impress you with my acting."

You always impress me, she says. "You did," she says, softly.

"I'll be okay in a bit."

"I don't care."

He cracks an eye open. "Yeah?"

Her throat is thick with everything she wants to tell him, but the words won't come out, they are stuck, so she just nods wordlessly, presses her fingers a little harder. We're okay, it says. We're okay. "Yeah," she whispers.

"I might fall asleep."

"That's okay."

"You can leave whenever."

"I'll be here," she says.

He doesn't respond, but his lips tug in a half-hearted smile. She watches him drift into a sleep, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids. His lips are parted, a little, his breath coming out even between them, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. Annabeth feels herself twist, a little, just at the sight of him, watching him, this beautiful boy in front of her, asleep, completely drained, completely open. She doesn't think she has known empathy like this before: so encompassing it takes you down, until you are in the depths as well. She supposes it's what makes him so good of an actor, but it hurts as well: to know that he is able of feeling so much. She imagines what it would be like to tell him about the ugly parts of herself.

She watches his sleeping face. Thinks, he is too good for me.

She should probably leave. She does not deserve to lie here watching him sleep, watching him be so effortlessly, easily vulnerable in a way she can never be, in a way that he can never understand. The selfless thing to do would be to get up and leave, let him sleep, let him find someone else to share a bed with him, someone who is brave enough to touch his face back, put her head on his shoulder, someone who can hold him without thinking of an expiry date.

But she has always been a little bit selfish. So she stays.

Percy's mom comes home when Annabeth is making tea.

She's in the kitchen, peering through the cupboards, trying to find the sugar, when she hears the front door snick open, and she whirls around in surprise to find an older woman stood in the doorway, unwrapping a scarf from around her neck. Annabeth feels strangely guilty, like she's just been caught doing something naughty, and she feels her heart thud: she knows, at once, that this is Percy's mom. But what will she think of her?

Thankfully, the woman just smiles. "Hello, love," she says, softly, "are you looking for something?"

Annabeth feels herself go a little pink. "Uh, just the sugar," she says. She finds she can't meet her eyes, instead looks down at her feet. She has a hole in one of her socks; her big toe pokes through.

"Top cupboard."

Annabeth manages a "thanks" but doesn't turn to it; instead, watches Percy's mom hangs her coat in the entryway, and then come into the kitchen too, bypass her for the teabags. She picks a green, Annabeth chose chamomile, thinks green tastes too medicinal, and then pulls out a mug of her own. Together, they wait for the kettle to pop.

"You must be Annabeth," the woman says, finally. Her tone is free of judgment or accusation, doesn't say it like a condemnation, like Annabeth has gotten used to her name sounding in the mouths of grown-ups. "I'm Sally. Percy's told me a lot about you."

To her surprise, she pulls her in for a hug, which Annabeth belatedly reciprocates, though her mind is elsewhere. Percy's talked about her? When she pulls back, Sally must see it in her face, because she laughs a little.

"Are you surprised?"

"Percy talked about me?"

"Hasn't stopped," Sally says. "You must be special."

Annabeth has never felt that special before. She feels herself warm to her toes. "I guess," she says, suddenly feeling a bit shy. She wriggles her toe in her sock. Then, when the silence stretches, she adds, quietly, "He's special to me, too."

Sally smiles. "I'm glad to hear it. Pour?"

The kettle has popped. Annabeth nods, and pours hot water into Sally's mug, and then does so for herself as well, filling it up halfway. "Uh, where's the milk?"

"Fridge."

Annabeth gets the milk, pours it in as well. This is her favourite part, she likes how it fractalizes in the water, and then she nudges the mug so it mixes properly. Sally watches her as she caps the carton, then spoons in one, two, three spoons of sugar.

"You like it sweet," she notes, but unaccusatory, just an observation.

"It's for Percy," she says. She swirls it, a little self-conscious. "He's asleep."

"Long scene?"

"Kind of."

"It's kind that you're staying."

She just shrugs, tightens her hands around the mug.

Sally smiles at her, warmly, and then squeezes her shoulder, picking up her own mug. "It's good to finally meet you, Annabeth," she says. "Maybe we can do dinner, sometime."

Annabeth nods, barely. "I'd like that," she says.

Sally's eyes soften over her mug, and she squeezes her shoulder again, before disappearing out of the kitchen.

Annabeth heads quietly back into Percy's bedroom. The curtains are still drawn but Percy is sat up now, tiredly rubbing at his eye. When he hears her come in he looks up and he smiles, a little self-consciously.

"Hey," he says. Sits up a little straighter. "I thought you'd left."

Annabeth doesn't know what to say; just lifts up the mug. "I was just making some tea." Percy's face softens, and the small smile he gives her causes something to flutter in her stomach. She never thought she was going to be like this, but something about Percy's eyes makes her feel shy, unused to being looked at like she's something special. She turns her feet in, tucks the toe peeping out of her sock under the other, and says, "I met your mom."

"Did she come home?"

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago." Annabeth hesitates. "I think I accidentally invited myself to dinner."

"Mom is like that," Percy says, "slippery slope. Talk to her long enough and she's twisting your arm to stay."

"That sounds nice."

"Yeah, she's the best."

What's that like?

"She said that you talk about me," Annabeth says.

She's not really sure what reaction she's expecting, but for Percy to smile broadly is not one of them. "I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What—" She clears her throat. "What do you say?"

He grins at her. "Are you fishing?"

"What? No."

"You're fishing."

"I'm nervous!" she says, and Percy laughs. "I've never met anyone's parents before." Percy raises an eyebrow. "Come on, like that."

"Like what?" Asshole.

"With... subtext."

"Oh yeah?" He's smiling at her indulgently, eyes soft. He's such an asshole. Annabeth thinks he's never been lovelier to look at. "Is that what we have? Subtext?"

"Overt subtext."

"Pretty sure that's just context."

She gives him a look. "Are you seriously arguing with me about this?"

"Sorry, sorry." He pats the bed next to him. "Sit?"

Annabeth hadn't even dared entertain the idea that she might be allowed back in his bed like this, without expectation, just lying with him, and she tries not to show how excited-nervous it makes her, as she balances the tea. She filled it with a little too much milk, it's a shade lighter than she likes it usually, and too close to the brim, so instead of thinking about the fact that she's getting back in bed with him she concentrates on the tea and not spilling it over the edge. She fails, a little, wobbles it when she's sitting down, a little rocks over the edge, but she catches it with her finger, sucks it into her mouth. On the edge of too sweet: perfect. She hands it over, and Percy takes it like it's solid gold, or something.

"Thanks," he says. "Kind of you."

Annabeth shrugs, a little bashful. They are shoulder-to-shoulder. It feels sort of formal, but she doesn't want to turn around just yet to look at him in the face, in case she rocks the bed and upsets his tea. Or something. "Always makes me feel better," she says.

She risks a glance at him, sees him smiling at her, so softly. "You're so nice," he says. He actually sounds like he means it.

"You haven't even tried it yet."

He does. "Sweet," he observes, when he's had a sip.

"Yeah." Annabeth watches him, a little self-consciously. "I heard that it's good to eat something kind of strong, when you're sad. Like sour candy, or chili, or something. Sort of brings your senses awake again. Sometimes, I—" Her throat closes, and she swallows, hard. Sometimes I do, when I've had a bad morning, with the candy an Argo crew member leaves in my locker every day. It's her cue to confess, but she can't, so she doesn't. "Too much?"

"No, no," Percy says hurriedly, "it's nice. Thanks, Beth."

"Of course," and it comes out maybe a little too soft, a little too earnest. "How are you feeling?"

Percy hums, around another sip of tea. "Tired," he says, after a pause. "But better."

"It's the tea."

"Obviously. Thanks for staying."

"Yeah, anytime."

He smiles at her, a little self-consciously. They're both a bit shy around each other, she realises: it's enough for her to suddenly feel a little brave, and hesitantly lets the tension seep from her shoulders, fold down, rest her head on his shoulder. Now that she can't see his face it's easier, so she also picks up his spare hand, lying between their legs, holds it between both of hers, traces his heartline with her finger. It's broken down the middle.

"Are you reading my palm?" he says.

"You know it."

"Personal assistant, and now psychic? Multi-faceted."

"I also run a drug cartel on the side," she says, and she feels his soft laugh rumble through his body. "But that's more of a side-hobby."

"Well, what does my palm say? Tell me my future. Will I become rich and successful?"

"I'm not a magic eight ball," she says, but humours him anyway: "Chances are slim."

He jostles her gently with his shoulder, and her head slips down to his chest. She freezes a little, unused to being so uninhibited like this around a boy, being able to touch him like this, but when he doesn't shove her off, she hesitantly settles, presses her ear to his heart. She can feel his pulse, slow and steady, against the side of her head, and she counts the beats, transcribing them out in taps against his open palm.

"What told you that?" he says. "Did my hand tell you that? Are you communicating with it?"

"Jeez, you really have no idea how psychics work."

"Come on, tell me my future."

Annabeth heaves a sigh, but they both know that it's more for show than anything, because she cradles his hand between both of hers, at all the lines running through it. She has never been particularly sentimental, but something about knowing Percy has lived all this life before her, a life that has given him these lines and these scars, warms her a little. She touches a scar, pink and curving down the middle of his hand. "What's this from?"

"I thought you were meant to tell me that. You know, I'm beginning to suspect you're not a real psychic."

"I'm gathering data. To create a bigger picture."

"Okay," he sings, a little, but he turns his hand anyway, so she can see it better, and she fits her thumbprint into it. "Scorpion sting, would you believe it."

"Seriously?"

"I was about twelve? Summer camp. Little bastard came out of nowhere, got me pretty good."

"Huh." She touches it again. "Did it hurt?"

"I was literally skewered by a scorpion, Annabeth, of course it hurt."

"Skewered. You are such a drama queen."

"Lucky I'm an actor."

"Every time you make that joke it gets less and less funny, and it wasn't that funny to begin with."

"Don't lie." He curls his fingers briefly around hers. "Do you need any more information or can you start predicting my future?"

"Impatient."

"I'm already formulating my Yelp review. Three and a half stars. Psychic's cute, but a total phony."

"I'm predicting. Let me have time."

"Sorry, sorry."

Annabeth moves her finger up and down his palm, over the broken heartline. She says, "I'm sensing a romantic relationship on the horizon."

She can almost feel him smile behind her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. The girl seems like a bit of an asshole, though."

"Why so?"

"She declined you for coffee. I mean, jerk move."

"Still ended up here, though."

"Mm." Up and down, again. "But she may... continue to be an asshole. Unintentionally."

She can't look at him, feels her breath suspended somewhere in her ears. Percy makes a thoughtful noise. "So... Accidentally Asshole?"

It's so stupid it gets a laugh out of her, but she feels the tension expel, as well. "You're so proud of that."

"Good movie title."

"Average."

"I'll send you the rights."

"Wouldn't want them."

"Liar."

"What, are you psychic too, now?"

"Yep. Can read your mind."

"What am I thinking, then?"

"You're thinking, oh shit, he can read minds."

"Tell me a secret, then."

"About yourself?"

"You can't?"

"That's not what I said." A long, comfortable silence. "Tell me one first."

"About me?"

"Yeah."

"That's not how psychics work. You're meant to tell me stuff."

"I'm just... what did you say? Gathering data?"

"You're so full of shit." He laughs. "What should I tell you?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"I love how specific you are."

She can almost hear the eye roll. "Humour me."

"You go first."

"Bossy," but in the voice he used when he called her special. She smiles where she knows he can't see her. "I don't know."

"You don't have any secrets?"

"I'm an open book."

"You're an actor, you must have some."

"Must I?"

"Fantasies? Other actors you don't like? Industry folklore that you've picked up through your harrowing journey with fame?"

Percy snorts. "Fame. That's nice of you to say."

"Isn't that what you are? Famous?"

"Argo is my first job, you know."

Her finger momentarily pauses in his hand. "Really?"

"Are you surprised?"

She is. By the way he'd been this afternoon, the way he'd cried until the tears froze on his cheeks, the fog he buried into so deep he couldn't shake it off for hours, the one that still hangs on him in remnants even now, she'd thought he must have done something prior to this. Knowing that he's still new, still fresh-faced, tugs at something in her, something deep and proud and a little selfish. He is so, so lovely, and he's going to do so, so much.

"Is that your secret?" she says, instead.

"No, that's a bad secret. Not really a secret, anyway." He hums, contemplatively, and she starts tapping her finger again, moving it up and down his hand. It's nice, being with him like this. She's still a little nervous, thinks maybe she'll always be around Percy, so afraid of doing something wrong and scaring him away, but she likes it: and for the first time, she thinks that's enough. "Okay, I have one."

"Hit me."

"My secret is: I'm glad you're here."

"That's a bad secret," she says, though her heart is hammering.

"Are you the secret police?"

"Does it even count as a secret?"

"Sure it does. No one knows."

"Except me."

"Except you," and then he folds his hand, her fingers caught between his, squeezes a little. "What's yours?"

Annabeth thinks.

She has slept four hours this past week. Her mom is but a ghost, and her dad likes his helicopter models more than he likes her. There are days she feels so overwhelmed by absolutely nothing that climbing out of bed feels like a feat fit for Everest.

But these aren't secrets like I'm glad you're here, because she's not brave enough for them to be. She traces Percy's broken heartline with the very tip of her nail, and he shivers a little, and she thinks just how much power she has, and how very so very cruel the universe is for putting this lovely, silly boy into her lap, a boy who feels so much and shivers under her touch like he knows that she touches him like every time will be last.

If she was brave like Percy she would say:

I think I am falling in love with you, and I am afraid because I have seen what love can do to people and I don't know if you can trust me with the responsibility. Because space is endless and full of holes and the universe is a magnificent creature who does what she likes, but she has never been kind to me, not in the way that you are.

My secret is this: you are too good for me.

But she doesn't say that. Instead, she says, "I like black holes."

"Is that a secret?"

"Unwittingly. Most people are asleep by the time it comes up in conversation. Apparently astrophysics isn't very interesting."

Percy snorts. "Can't imagine why."

"I think they're fascinating," Annabeth says. "They say at the centre of the universe is a black hole."

"Scary."

Yeah. Sometimes. "I guess," she says.

"Could we all get sucked in?"

"They're not whirlpools. As long as we're not near the event horizon we're fine."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"I used to have this book," she says, "about physics. I think Dad thought it was an encyclopaedia. It was more of a textbook than anything, it had a lot of practice exercises in it, with an answer pack at the back, but it's how I got into space in the first place."

When she looks at him, Percy looks a little sad, for some reason. "Used to?"

"I gave it away," she says. "I think they needed it more than I did."

"Sad."

"No," she says, "happy. They're learning about space."

It gets a laugh out of him, like she'd wanted, but he still looks a little bothered, for some reason. She just swipes her thumb across his open palm, says, "Do you want to hear more about black holes?" She is always much better talking about science than her own feelings.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," she says.

She tells him everything she can remember, about black holes, about their event horizons and gravitational forces. She talks until her voice has gone croaky and Percy's nearly nodding off behind her. She knows that he doesn't care, that she's only talking for the sake of talking, keeping up a soundtrack as she traces a circle into his palm, like the centre of her own universe, to avoid her having to talk about anything else, to rip herself open enough that he can peer into her and see the rot inside. She tells him about how they're formed in the wake of the collapse of a star, how they simply fold in on themselves once they've run out of fuel: once upon a time, that had confused her. How can something as bright as a star turn into something as dark as a black hole? But then she met stars in the forms of people, Piper, Thalia, and now Percy, the brightest, loveliest star she's ever been allowed to cradle in her hands, and understood it entirely. In the absence of them she thinks the pockets of the universe they inhabited would fold into holes too.

Percy falls asleep behind her after ten minutes. She feels his breathing slow, shoulders relax, and then his head tips on top of hers, and she presses her smile into his shirt. He is probably still tired from this afternoon, though she doesn't doubt it's also a little to do with the science. Instead, she just stops talking, and then shifts, so she's looking right at his face, at his eyes flickering beneath his closed eyelids. She almost wants to reach out and trace the line of his face with the tip of her finger so she can memorise the map of him but she doesn't: she just lies there, quietly, still softly circling her finger in his open palm.

She wishes she was good with words, that she was brave enough to vocalise them, to tell him just how much he means to her. That in the short time they have known each other she has smiled more than she can remember: that with him, the universe doesn't feel so big. He makes her feel like she is not just a speck of dust in an indifferent universe, but that, in the great chaos, she matters, like infinity has shrunk down to the size of his bedroom.

It's silly, to think, and probably even sillier to say.

She just watches his eyelashes and thinks, you are so precious to me.

Annabeth leaves the Jackson residence later than she'd intended. She falls asleep next to Percy on the bed and is only awoken when Sally knocks on his door asking if they want dinner, and Percy turns to her with a hopeful look that would have pinned her to the ground had her brain not already been preoccupied with an impending freak-out. She'd bluffed a family dinner back at hers that she needed to be getting back to, and Percy had let her go without much protest, just watched as she slid her feet back into her sneakers, and then walking her to the door.

"You know," she says, as she puts on her coat, "I'm still waiting for you to read my mind."

Percy grins at that, leaning against the wall. He is still a little sleep-soft, rumpled, with a pillow crease on his cheek and his hair all smushed to one side. It's a lot more adorable than she cares to admit. "Annabeth, if you wanted me to have a peep inside your brain and see how hot you think I am, you should've just said."

She gives him a look, and he laughs. "I'm starting to think that you can't."

"No, I can. I'll do it right now." He takes a step forward, and takes her hand. "You're thinking... Percy needs to brush his hair. I'm sad I'll be missing dinner with his mom, because she's making casserole, and I'm sure her casserole is great, and my dinner back at home will probably pale in comparison. I have homework to do. Percy's hot. And... I'll miss him, when I go."

Her heart is hammering. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. "But maybe I'm just projecting."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she looks down at their joined hands, where her palm is pressed against his scorpion scar and the broken heartline.

"So, how'd I do?" he says.

She looks back at him, and pretends to consider. "Pretty accurate."

He grins. "Yeah?"

"You do need to brush your hair."

He rolls his eyes as she laughs. "Funny."

"I know I am," she says. She squeezes his hand one last time, and then lets go. "I should probably get going."

"Oh, yeah, of course." He watches as she zips up her coat. "Hey, uh, thanks. By the way."

She glances up. "For what?"

He shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. "For staying behind. And for coming home with me. I probably wasn't heaps of fun."

"It's okay."

"This wasn't really the 'first date' I had imagined us having."

"I had a good time," she says simply, and Percy looks so hopeful at that something in her chest clenches.

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

They smile at each other. Annabeth puts her hands in her pockets.

"I'll, uh, see you around," she says.

"Yeah, you too," he says. "Text me when you're home?"

"I will. Bye, Percy."

"Bye, Annabeth."

It's only once the door has closed behind her that she allows herself to properly start freaking out.

So she likes Percy. That's fine. She's had crushes on people before – Luke from summer camp; most of the boys on the Mathletes, at some point in time; even Piper, for about two seconds – but even as she tells herself that this isn't anything different, she knows that's not true. What she's feeling now is unlike anything she's ever felt before, and she's terrified.

What had been so comforting only a few hours ago feels like ice in her veins. She suddenly understands what Thalia had meant when she said the anonymity of infinity was liberating, because in a universe that is only Annabeth and Percy, Annabeth suddenly feels suffocated.

This isn't something she can run from. When you are but a speck of dust on the shoulders of a giant you are invisible, but now she feels like a goldfish in a bowl with nowhere to hide. Percy is real, and he likes her, and suddenly what she is carrying in her hands feels like it is worth a boulder, because there is so much more at stake here. She thinks of Percy's grin as she left and thinks how lovely and how terrible it is to be such a pivotal part of someone's happiness. What the hell does she have to offer someone like Percy? She's always sad so certainly not happiness of her own; she's also too uptight for her own good, too neurotic, so not something easy-going; and she's probably not even that good at sex, either, so it's not like she can fall back on that, either.

Annabeth has always favoured facts and logic over emotions, because it's how the world works: Math doesn't change depending on whether or not you missed the bus, and no matter how you draw it the angles in a triangle always add to the same thing. And then Percy, who is like the dark unexplored areas of the universe where numbers noodle into nothing, and suddenly she feels like nothing really makes sense anymore.

Percy is warm and kind and open and everything she's not and he deserves so much better than her, but for some reason he's decided that she's good enough. It makes something uncomfortable rise in her stomach, something that settles, sharp and bitter, in her ribcage, like a large restless animal.

So she deals with it the only way she can.

Can I tell you about something?

The next morning, there's a note in response.

Of course, what's up?

There's a boy.

Get it, 167.

No, not like that. Well, a bit like that.

What's he like?

I don't know. Nice smile. Nice eyes.

Wow, it's almost like I'm there.

I'm serious.

I'm failing to see the problem. Is he an asshole?

I think I'm falling in love with him, but I'm really, really afraid.

Why?

He is so, so good. And I'm not. I don't want to hurt him.

Nobody's that good.

I know. But he tries. He feels so much. I don't try.

What are you really scared of, 167?

I'm scared that when he finds out that I'm not good like him he'll realise he deserves better.

No offence, but that's shit.

What?

He's not that good. You're not that bad. You're both human. He doesn't need a perfect person. I think you're overthinking this.

I know.

Just breathe, 167. You're allowed to fall in love. What are you so afraid of?

Losing him.

For some reason, I really, really doubt that'll happen.

And something in her eases a little.

She twists her lips thoughtfully, tracing over the note, thinking. Then, before she can lose her nerve, she pulls out her phone.

Annabeth: What are you doing tomorrow night?

Percy: Nothing, why?

Annabeth: Do you want to do something?

Percy: Are you asking me on a date?

Annabeth: If that's okay

Percy: :D

Percy: Hell yeah

Annabeth is not particularly poetic, but she thinks maybe it's that part of her that brings Percy to the park she visited with Thalia.

It is just how she remembered, cold and shadowy and empty, but not as dark, because after what felt like the longest winter ever spring has finally arrived, and the days are beginning to bleed just a little longer. They meet at the front gates, Percy wearing a blue T-shirt under his hoodie that makes his eyes look almost bioluminescent in the night, and then Annabeth helps him climb the fence.

"I have to say," he says, as he drops on the other side, "us breaking the law like this is kind of sexy."

Annabeth gives him a look through the fence. "Keep it in your pants."

"Right Bonnie and Clyde, we are," Percy says, and then promptly trips on his shoelace.

Annabeth quickly scales the fence too, and then misjudges her jump and lands mere inches away from him so when she straightens their noses are but a whisker apart. She quickly takes a step backwards and turns to hide her red face, hoping the dusk makes it just look like she's cold, but when she turns to face him, she's not sure it's so successful. He's grinning at her, and she rolls her eyes to hide the way her ears burn. "Come on," she says, "let's go."

They head deeper into the park, and Percy whistles as the jungle gym and other playground equipment become visible. "Damn," he says, "I haven't been to this place in years."

"Race you to the swingset," Annabeth says.

He glances at her. "Oh, you're so on."

"Go," she says, and starts running, laughing as she hears his surprised, "Shit!" as he stumbles to catch up with her. Predictably, she reaches them a solid five seconds before he does, and smugly sits on one of the swings as he breathlessly flips her off. "Wow, poor form."

"You cheated."

"Smells like a sore loser to me."

"I'll show you a sore loser," he says, and sits on the swing next to her. "Let's see who can go highest. I bet I can do a full three-sixty."

"I think we're too big for this," she says with a laugh, but obediently pushes off the ground. Her legs are too long for the size of the swings, and even bending her legs she still feels them graze the ground, but as next to her Percy whoops as he starts to build momentum the entire frame ominously shakes, like it's threatening to unearth she finds she can't bring it in herself to care. They swing for a few more minutes, Percy only getting higher than her because she's pretty sure the swingset is about to come apart, before they start to slow to a gentle sway, Annabeth pushing herself back and forth with one foot. Percy glances over at her, eyes bright in the dark.

"I won," he says.

"Yeah, because you were about to break it. I was saving us a hefty fine."

"Like we're not already get fined if someone finds us."

"Not if you keep shouting like that."

"They're victorious war cries," he says, but he slows down anyway with a grin. "I'd protect you if someone came."

"I don't need protecting."

"No, if it came to that you'd probably have to protect me, but, like, shield you with my fame."

"Local actor of web series fame Percy Jackson found terrorising an old children's park with mystery girl, tries to use said fame to get out of a breaking and entering penalty."

"Headline of the year."

"People would read it and be like, who?"

"Yeah, hence mystery girl."

She gives him a look, and he laughs, pleased with himself. It's a sound she wants to trap in a jar and keep close to her chest, to warm her whenever she feels sad.

He extricates himself from the swingset, long limbs getting tangled in the chain suspenders, and then holds out his hand. "Come on, let's find the highest point. We can stargaze."

The highest point is actually the tower at the top of the jungle gym, but it's wooden and probably not an incredibly comfortable perch, so the next choice is the monkey bars. As she scales the side, Annabeth is hit by a sense of déjà vu, doing this exact thing with Thalia months ago. She smiles a little, remembering the bite of the cold bars against her hands, how she had blisters in her palms like she perpetually used to when she was younger and properly played on the monkey bars. This time the cold of the frame is a little more forgiving, and the night isn't as cold, so uncharacteristically still she can hear the trains pulling in from the station several yards away. She pulls herself to the very top and shuffles along so Percy can fit as well, swinging her legs down. Moments later, as graceful as an elephant, Percy does the same, the whole frame shuddering beneath him.

"You should come with a caution label," she says, and he laughs.

"I think I'm getting too big for a lot of these things."

"You think?"

"Just an inkling." He dangles his feet. "But not too big, yet."

"I remember the park being so much bigger," she says. "I remember coming when I was young and thinking all the equipment was so huge, and now coming back it's like... almost sad, to see how small everything actually is."

He glances at her. "Sad?"

"I don't know. I guess. I used to think the slide was Everest, or something, and now I'm nearly as tall as it. Baby Annabeth had such small problems."

"Big to her, though."

"Yeah. I guess." It's nice, to put it that way.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, thighs pressed together. Annabeth finds she would be content to just sit in silence for the rest of the night if it meant she had Percy's comforting presence next to her, a warm reassuring weight against her side. Something about him is just so unexpectant, so easy, that she feels like if he asked, she would tell him anything. She knows that she is afraid but it's hard to remember when being around him is the easiest thing in the world.

She's been thinking about it, though, so she has to ask. "Why acting?"

Percy glances at her. "What do you mean?"

"What made you want to become an actor?"

"Do I not strike you as the type?"

"No, you do." Maybe at first, not, but once she saw what he could do, she can't imagine him doing anything else. "Just curious how it came about."

"It sort of just happened," he says, with a small laugh. "Chiron was doing a big casting call for teenagers, he visited a bunch of schools in the local area. He went to yours, too, right? Yeah. Anyway, so he came in, just said, anyone who wants to audition, can, and me and some friends thought why not? I'd never been very good at school. I have dyslexia, so it's not the easiest for me, academics, and I used to kind of have anger management issues."

"Really?" Annabeth can't imagine someone as gentle, as kind as Percy, to have issues with anger.

He ducks his head self-consciously. "Yeah, it was—I don't know. Made school difficult, for a while. And acting is just so far from academics that I was like, may as well, and, well. The rest is history, as they say."

"What would you want to do, if not acting?"

He considers this. "I don't know. Maybe a teacher?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Maybe for kids with learning difficulties, like dyslexia, or anger management. It could still happen, if I never get booked after Argo."

"You will," she says, because she's not certain about a lot, but she can say that much. He is so much bigger than a small web series that only half a state watch. "I know it."

"You do, yeah? With your psychic powers?"

"Aren't you the mind reader? Shouldn't you know, without having to ask me?"

"It's a bit crowded in there," he teases, and gently flicks her temple. "Too many thoughts of Percy is the coolest person I've ever met. Clearly I take up all your thinking capacity."

"You must have interpreted 'lame' as 'cool', then."

"That was weak, even for you."

"Not my fault I was working on bad material."

"Liar, I'm the best at jokes. Want to hear a classic?"

"Hit me."

"Why did the sand blush?"

"Because the sea weed," Annabeth says, and revels in Percy's indignant expression. "I've heard that one before."

"What? Where? That's a limited-edition Percy goof-em-up!"

To be honest, she's not sure: the answer sort of just slipped out. She frowns, trying to think back to where she could've heard it. Definitely not Thalia or Piper, they don't make stupid jokes, and Bobby and Matthew are still in their your mom phase. Then it hits her: the locker-mate. She smiles. Now that's an interesting story. But for another time.

"Just around," she says, but when she turns to Percy his brows are furrowed, as though he's also deep in thought. He looks almost—anguished, for some reason, and she frowns at him. "Are you that insulted? We can run it again if you want."

Percy shakes his head, like he's just come out of his reverie. "Uh, no," he says, "sorry, just—remembering something."

"If it's another bad joke I don't want to hear it," she warns, and he laughs. It's a little thin, almost nervous-sounding, not properly reaching his eyes, but it sounds genuine enough, so she leaves it.

"You wish you had jokes this good."

"Not even a little."

"I don't have to be psychic to know that's a lie."

She just rolls her eyes, and he laughs again, and this one sounds more real. Content, she smiles a little, closing her eyes, and tipping her head back in the moonlight. When she opens them again, she is staring straight up into the sky, which is uncharacteristically filled with stars. She thinks she can count on one hand the sky's been so clear that she can see so many, like needlepoints against black velvet, and she properly leans back this time, lying parallel with the bars, one pressing in to each shoulder blade. "Look at the sky," she says, and after a moment Percy lies down next to her. She can smell his shampoo, coconut, she thinks.

He lets out a low whistle. "That's pretty cool."

"Do you know much about stars?"

There's a pause. "Not really."

"I do." This feels a little easier to admit, now that she's not looking at him, instead staring up into infinity, at the stars millions and millions of light years away. "The universe used to really scare me. Still does, sometimes. Just knowing how big and vast and endless it is. The book I used to have, about physics, I used to read it obsessively. Cover-to-cover. I thought... if I knew everything about space, about stars and galaxies and planets and black holes, then I wouldn't be so scared."

Percy's voice is almost a whisper. "Did it help?"

"No," she confesses. "Now I'm just scared and know a lot about space." She points. "See, that? That's Leo."

"I'm a Leo."

She smiles, where he can't see her. "It's after a Greek myth. Where Hercules slayed the Nemean Lion."

"I'm named after a Greek myth," Percy says. "Perseus. The only hero who didn't get a tragic ending."

Something about his voice is a little off. She turns her head. "Yeah?"

Abruptly, he sits up, and puts his head in his hands. A little alarmed, Annabeth sits up as well, confusedly.

"Percy?" she says. "Are you okay?"

"I have to tell you something," he says.

She wants to make a joke of it, but there is something serious in his expression that makes any potential quips die on her tongue. "Okay," she says gently. "What's up?"

Percy's leg is bouncing. This is the first time it has read as agitation on him: usually it just comes across as excess energy, or frenetic excitement, but today it feels a little edgy, tinged with anxiety. Something is clearly wrong, and for the first time Annabeth feels something poisonous open in her stomach. "I—I've been meaning to tell you for a while, and—I wasn't really planning on doing it tonight, but you kept saying all these really personal thing and it means so much that you trust me with that and I just—"

"Percy," Annabeth cuts him off. He's really beginning to freak her out now. "What is it?"

He expels a nervous breath, and then reaches into his pocket. Annabeth frowns, wondering what the hell he's about to show her, until he produces a crumpled piece of notepaper, and wordlessly hands it to her. She frowns, and then glances up at him; he is chewing on his lower lip, eyes flickering, and she looks back down at the paper. She doesn't get it, until she unfolds it, and sees her own handwriting.

I think I'm falling in love with him, but I'm really, really afraid.

Something like ice pricks her bloodstream.

"Where did you get this?" she whispers. She doesn't even recognise it as her own voice: it feels like it's come from someone else. She doesn't understand. She feels like she is processing in slow-motion.

Percy's voice is wrung with nerves. "You gave it to me."

She shakes her head. "No, I..." I gave it to my locker-mate. She counts two beats, feels them like broken glass, and then finally looks up at him. "I don't understand."

He gives her a wry smile. "Locker 167, right?"

167.

Oh, God.

She feels like she's going to be sick.

All along, she had been so scared of Percy finding out all the ugly parts of her, the twisted, angry, bitter, jealous parts, the parts that hated her parents and couldn't look after her family and only slept with the help of pills, the parts she had wanted to keep under wraps as long as possible, the parts of her she had spilt into her locker to an illusion of a boy. Except it's not an illusion, the illusion is right here in front of her. How long had he known? She stares into his face, watches as it slowly turns to concern, and feels sick. Has it been from the beginning? Has he known all along? Or was it recently?

That doesn't matter. What matters is that he let her tell him all her deepest darkest secrets and she was dumb enough to think that the universe would ever be kind enough to owe her anything.

Percy is watching her anxiously. "Say something?"

Annabeth is a lot of things. But the worst is a coward.

"I need to go," she says.

"Annabeth—" Percy says urgently, but she's climbing off the monkey bars before he can stop her and walking as fast as she can towards the gate. She realises belatedly that her hands are shaking so she tucks them into her armpits but that doesn't help, because it's not just her hands, it's everything: her entire body is trembling. She feels her eyes prick, and she quickens her pace even more. She is not going to let him see her cry. He doesn't get that satisfaction.

"Wait, Annabeth!" he calls after her, and there's a thud like he just jumped down. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and then a hand on her arm: "Annabeth, please, just—"

She whirls around and his hand falls off. He stands there, eyes wide and damp and confused, and she hates him, she hates that seeing him cry still makes something twist inside her.

"Don't Annabeth me," she says, voice wavering, "don't—you don't get to do that—"

"Please just listen to me," he pleads, "I promise—"

"No!" One traitorous tear escapes, and she wipes at it furiously. She is angry, but the sort of anger that is wet, that wracks your entire body with sobs and makes you want to just scream until the clouds listen and split. "How long have you known, huh? Was it fun for you? Getting me to open up, tell you everything, while you played at liking me outside of the locker? Huh?"

"Annabeth, I swear—"

"I told you so much, about—about the divorce, about myself, my friends, and—and—"

"You have to know I meant every word I said," he says frantically, "you have to know—"

"Did you think it would be funny? Was this some sort of joke on-set? Did Piper know?"

Percy is shaking her head before she's even finished speaking. "No, Annabeth—"

"What?" she snaps at him. She thinks she is shouting. "What the hell can you possibly say to me?"

Percy stares at her helplessly. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can suddenly there is a shout of, "Hey!" and a triangle of yellow light hits them both square in the face.

Annabeth instinctively turns towards the noise, holding her hand up to shield her eyes; distantly, she is aware of Percy doing the same thing, and something twists inside of her, that she is still so in tune to him that even when she hates him most she still can't pull her eyes away from him.

There is a man approaching, in dark clothes, carrying a torch, with a suspicious look on his face. He is wearing a neon vest that says PARK RANGER, and suddenly Annabeth is very tired. He glances between the two of them, shining the torch in both of their faces.

"What are you two doing here?" the man says gruffly. "Park's closed. Don't you know what time it is?"

"We were just leaving," Percy says.

"That's what I thought." The man still regards them warily, flicking the torch from Annabeth to Percy and back again. He shifts. "Is everything okay?"

Annabeth imagines what it looks like, both of them wide-eyed and pale, angry and tearful and so, so confused. She thinks she'd like to know the answer to that, too. "Yeah," she says stonily. "Everything's fine."

In her peripheral, she sees Percy flinch, and she clenches her fist. Clearly unconvinced, the man flicks his torch to Percy, as if trying to read the truth from his expression. There is a long beat.

Then: "Say," he says, "aren't you that kid from that web drama?"

"No," Percy says. "Generic face, I guess."

"Could've sworn you were. Must be the hair." Satisfied, he switches off the torch, and then points at them. "I'll let you go – but next time I catch you traipsing around these parts this late it'll be a fine for both of you, you hear me?"

Mutely, they nod.

"Good," the man says. "Well, good night, then, kids. Boy, you better take your girl home, she looks as spooked as a horse."

Annabeth feels her nails bite into her palm, and just silently nods, watches as the man bobs his head at them, and then turns on his heel, lumbering away across the grass. It suddenly feels so much darker now that the torch isn't on. She turns to Percy, who is giving her a helpless look.

"I'm going to go home," she says quietly.

"Can I walk you?"

"No. That's okay."

He nods, barely. She can't look at him, or she thinks she might start crying again, so she just swallows, and then turns to go. Just as she's taken a few steps, and her eyes have filled with tears, he calls, "Annabeth?"

She hates herself for it, but she pauses, and turns.

He looks so, so tired. "Can I call you? When you get home? To explain?"

She knows if she let him, she would forgive him, because even now, she feels like there is little she wouldn't do for him. But won't let herself. "No," she says. "Please don't."

He looks like he wants to say something, but he bites his tongue, and just nods. "Okay," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

She waits, a few more moments, silently hoping he is going to say anything more, put up more of a fight. Tell her that it's all a misunderstanding, he found the note on the floor and recognised the handwriting, that the night has only just begun, that he has a picnic set up on the other side of the park with hot chocolate and sandwiches and he was going to kiss under the stars and she was going to warm down to her toes.

But he doesn't, so she just nods, and turns away. Only once she knows she's out of earshot does she let the tears fall.

She doesn't get out of bed.

It's an extended weekend so it's not like she doesn't have time, but she almost wishes it wasn't, just to regain some sense of normalcy. She just wants to get up and go back to usual, go to school, come home, rinse, repeat, but now an extra day of nothing that would have once been exciting is just a grey haze. As soon as she gets home from the park, she has a shower, and then another, and then climbs into bed and curls her knees to her chest and just stares blankly at the wall.

She doesn't know what to feel. She feels numb. The fact that Percy has known all these intensely private things about her, things she hasn't even told Thalia or Piper, for all this time, makes her want to throw up. She feels strangely violated, like someone just broke into her diary and read out all her deepest, most private thoughts and feelings.

What's worse, is that underneath it all, she just feels embarrassed. Sure, he lied, but she was the one who was stupid enough to trust the stranger in her locker. She's just lucky her notes didn't end up posted on the school Instagram, or whatever. Though there's always time, she thinks, a little darkly. She doesn't think Percy would be the kind to do that, but then again, she also didn't think he was the kind of person to lie to her and let her make a fool out of herself, confessing to his face that she thought she might be in love with him.

It makes her cringe even thinking about it, and she rolls over, burying her head under her pillow. She doesn't want to think. She just wants to shut off from the world and fall asleep.

She drifts, in and out. Never deeply, only in the half-state between awake and dreaming: but her room has been dark since she first came in, she closed all the blinds and kept the light off, so sometimes there are long moments where she's not sure if she's asleep. Whatever it is, she just keeps replaying the events of the night over and over in her head.

God, she's such an idiot. She feels her eyes swim with tears, and makes a frustrated sound, muffling them into her pillow. She hates him, and she hates him, and she also hates the fact that she doesn't really hate him at all.

At some point Frederick pokes his head in, cautiously. He asks if she wants a cup of tea, or for him to bring up any food, which will probably just be cereal, or ramen, which is the extent of his culinary skills, but she declines. Still, when she emerges next from out under her blankets, there's a mug on her bedside table. Green, and the teabag has split, tea leaves swimming in it, but it's so thoughtful that she feels her eyes fill with tears again. She drinks it all, anyway, even though it's cold and she doesn't like green tea, and tehn burrows herself back into her mattress and just feels sorry for herself.

Saturday bleeds into Sunday which bleeds into Monday, and Annabeth for the first time gets out of bed to make some toast and have a shower. The shower is scalding and she comes out feeling scrubbed raw, and she only manages to nibble at a piece of toast, but it's something, she supposes. Frederick gives her an awkward, pleased smile from the kitchen table when she skulks in to put her empty mug away, and she returns it, before retreating back to her room.

She is content to just nap the rest of the day away in a similar fashion to the previous weekend, but just as she feels herself drifting back off, there is a bang, and the sound of voices, and when she pokes an eye out of her nest of blankets, she sees none other than Thalia and Piper climbing through her bedroom window, cursing and swearing at each other, laden with shopping bags.

"Thalia? Piper?" Her voice is croaky from not having used it in days, and she swallows, clears her throat, and sits up. Thalia, halfway through pulling Piper through the window, turns to her at the sound of her speaking, and shoots her a small smile. "What are you doing here?"

"You weren't answering your texts," Thalia says, and gives Piper a particularly hard tug that has her clattering to the floor. "Jeez, could you be any less graceful?"

"I think you broke one of my ribs," Piper wheezes, clutching at her stomach.

"Don't be dramatic," Thalia says, "they're probably bruised at worse." She looks at Annabeth. "Come on, no school! We needed to hang out."

Annabeth watches as they unpack the plastic bags: movies, candy, and a frankly worrying amount of alcohol. "You didn't need to come," she says in a small voice.

"Uh, yes we did," Piper says. She picks herself up off the floor and comes over to where Annabeth is lying in bed, perching on the mattress next to her, and running a hand through her hair. It's probably a little greasy and flat, but she doesn't betray a thing, just gives her a soft smile. "The last time we had time off school Thalia's dad swooped in and ruined the day. Obviously we were going to do this time right."

"What are friends for?" Thalia says, which would be sweet was she not kicking off her big black boots at the same time and getting mud all over her floor. "Come on, let's watch some movies and eat ungodly amounts of candy. I am armed with enough beer to probably kill a man so I'm ready."

Annabeth feels a half-hearted smile tug at her lips as she watches them clamber gracelessly onto the bed with her, snuggling up either side and pooling the food in between them. A lot of mint chocolate, Annabeth's favourite, which she knows for a fact Thalia despises, always claims it tastes of toothpaste. There's also a Ziploc bag of jolly ranchers, and she almost wants to cry just looking at them.

Almost. She's not pathetic.

Piper snags Annabeth's laptop from her dresser and slides in one of the DVDs as Thalia cracks open a beer and accidentally spills some on her duvet. Annabeth isn't sure what movie it is, and she has a suspicion that they don't either: she's pretty sure it's just a smokescreen for the real reason they're here. Sure enough, after five minutes, she feels Piper next to her shift a little.

"So," she says, carefully, "is there a reason you dropped off the face of the earth for the last few days?"

Annabeth shrugs, bringing her comforter up to her ears. "Yeah. I guess."

There is a beat. "That was your cue to tell us what it is," Piper says.

Annabeth sighs, and pauses the movie. The girls recalibrate around her, so they're sat cross-legged, facing her, Thalia sucking on the end of a gummy-worm the length of a large snake. It would have been comical, were it any other situation.

Annabeth swallows. "You know... my locker-mate?"

They both nod.

"It's Percy."

There is a very, very long silence. Annabeth risks glancing up at them, to see them both looking staring at her confusedly. Thalia's mouth is open, showing the streaks of artificial blue colouring on her tongue.

Ananbeth feels a little defensive. "What?"

"Isn't that a good thing?" Piper says.

"Why would it be a good thing?" Thalia says to her. "He ruined her notes."

"Yeah, but he rewrote them after."

"He did?"

"Of course it's not a good thing," Annabeth says, a little stung. "It's—a violation of trust."

"A what?" If anything, Piper looks even more confused. Annabeth feels strangely betrayed. She's sure of everyone, they'd be the most understanding. She wasn't asking for much, even some faux-sympathy would've been nice. "Annabeth, what are you on about? Is this why you've been holed up in your room for days? Because Percy's your locker-mate? I'm failing to see the correlation."

"Because!" Annabeth flounders a little, frustrated. "Because, I—I told him things, the locker-mate, things about—me, and my family, things about Percy, and—all along, it was him! He just let me make an idiot of myself."

"Things like what?" Thalia says.

Annabeth picks at her comforter. "Just... things. Like... about the situation, with Percy. How I felt like I was f—how I really liked him. And he was just—encouraging it. Just—" She doesn't know how to convince them, so she reaches over to her desk drawer and wrenches it open, pulling out the stack of notes she's been keeping, tied together with a rubber band. She hadn't realised just how tall it was, and how this was only half, his half, and something in her wrenches at the sight of it. She can't look at it for too long, so she just drops it in the middle of them and tucks her hands under her thighs to stop them from shaking. "I mean, look. We talked a lot. To know that—to know that he knew all along cheapens it, you know?"

"Holy shit," Thalia says, with a low whistle, as she flicks through them. "I don't think you've said this many words to me, ever."

Annabeth watches them anxiously as they flick through them. Something almost feral inside her convulses a little as she watches Piper carefully slide off the rubber band and have a peer through all the notes, how they're looking and reading all Percy's private notes, but then she remembers how he knew all along, and feels less guilty. She sets her jaw.

"Jeez," Piper says, as she touches one. "I had no idea about any of this."

Annabeth glances at it: that's the note in which he told her about Gabe. Instinctively, she reaches for it, and folds it. She may hate Percy, but this was something private.

"Did he say how long he knew?" Thalia says.

Annabeth shrugs. "Not really."

"Didn't you ask him?"

"We haven't really spoken since."

"Why not?"

Annabeth stares at her. "Why not? I don't want to speak to him. I told him not to call me."

"Annabeth!" Piper says, dismayed.

"What?"

"He could've always sent you a note," Thalia says, and Annabeth gives her a look. "Too soon?"

"Why did you say that?" Piper says. "You're telling me you didn't even hear him out?"

"What's there to hear out? He let me make an idiot of myself. I trusted him, and he betrayed me. I have nothing to say to him."

Piper and Thalia exchange a look Annabeth doesn't like very much. She feels herself bristle.

"What?"

"And you say I'm a drama queen," Piper says.

"I'm not being a drama queen."

"Yes, you absolutely are." Annabeth opens her mouth indignantly to retort but Piper cuts her off. "No, listen to me. Okay, so did Percy mess up? Yes, definitely. He should've told you as soon as he found out, and yeah, it sucks that you feel like you told him all this private stuff that you wouldn't have if you knew who he was. I get it. But you're also being sort of a dick for not hearing him out. He could have a genuine reason for not telling you sooner. Besides" – she gestures to the note Annabeth's holding, which she hadn't realised she was clutching defensively to her chest – "it's not like you were the only one who shared personal stuff. I mean, jeez, I'd say me and Percy are pretty close and he hasn't even let up a single thing about any of this. You're embarrassed, I get it – but so's he, probably. You just need to talk to each other."

Annabeth swallows, and glances down at the note, feeling her hands relax around it. She traces the thumbprints either side of it, fits her own thumb in it. Imagines all the time she's had that thumbprint pressed to her pulse, in the way he does when they hold hands.

"But it's not just that," she admits, in a voice no louder than a whisper.

"What is it, then?"

Annabeth picks hard at the comforter. She can't look at either of them. "I know—I know I haven't been—super open, about stuff going on with me, and stuff. And I'm really sorry. I don't mean for you to feel like—like I don't value you, or anything, because I do, so much, and that's why I've never said anything, because—" And oh God, she feels her eyes begin to fill with tears again. She could probably fill an ocean with the amount she's cried in the past few days. "Because I didn't want anything to change, when you found out."

"Oh—Beth—" And then there are arms reaching out for her, and Annabeth lets out a wet laugh that could also be a sob as she feels them tuck themselves around her. Thalia's pointy chin digs into her shoulder and Piper's long hair tickles her face, and she's aware that one of them is stroking her hair like she's a child. "Beth," one of them says, and that's Thalia, who is never inclined to participate in anything even remotely emotional (Annabeth doesn't the beers are playing a fair part), "why would anything change?"

"I don't know," she says hoarsely, throat thick, "I just didn't want you to treat me any different. And it's just—I'm so pathetic, too, like none of what I've got going on is even that bad, not compared to you—"

"Oh, please don't use me a benchmark of bad luck," Thalia says. "I long since stopped caring about anything."

"What's this got to do with Percy?" Piper says gently.

Annabeth sniffs. "I don't know. I guess—I was scared, once he found out all this stuff about me, things would change between us, you know? I didn't want anything to change, I didn't want him to treat me like I was—anything different. I wanted to tell him in my own time, of my own accord, but that was taken from me because—because he knew all along." She sniffs again, and wipes her nose on her sleeve. "It's stupid, I know, I just—I don't know. When I found out that it was him, I sort of tunnel-visioned, and panicked."

Piper strokes her hair reassuringly. "It's not stupid."

"It's a little stupid," Thalia says.

Piper glares at her. "Thalia!"

"Hey, I'm all about validating feelings, and Annabeth, I get it, honestly. But also—isn't this a good thing? I mean, he knows. And he's still treating you the same."

Annabeth's never thought about it that way before. She scrubs at her cheek. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're worried that you're gonna scare him off with all your garbage, aren't you? But clearly he wasn't that scared off because he was still hanging with you and acting the same until he came clean. Like, obviously it sucks that you didn't get to do it in your own time, but doesn't that sort of count for something?"

Oh.

"Wow, Thalia," Piper says, "did you actually give good advice for once?"

"Alcohol unlocks my third eye," Thalia says. "I can probably predict the future. Ask me something."

"What are next week's lottery numbers?"

As Thalia starts rattling off a string of numbers, Annabeth's mind whirs. She'd never even thought of it like that before: that Percy had known all along, but also he'd known all along. She doesn't know when he found out: maybe it was the very first time they met, or maybe it was somewhere along the line, but what she does know is that he never treated her as anything other than herself. He never acted like she was breakable or vulnerable, never did anything but show her endless kindnesses even when she didn't deserve them.

She still feels flayed open, knowing that all her secrets are out in the open, that he knows every single one of them, even the ones she'd planned on never telling anyone, not even him. It is like every bit of her has been rubbed raw, but for the first time, she feels herself begin to heal a little, grow a new skin.

It sucks. But maybe it was for the best.

For the first time in days, she lets herself hope.

The bell rings at 6:59 precisely.

Annabeth has been trying not to watch the clock, has tried every trick in the book to keep herself distracted – cleaning, schoolwork, movies, reading – but admittedly, she has been counting down the minutes, feeling herself coil tighter and tighter with each second that passes. They'd agreed on 7, and the fact that Percy is being so careful he arrived almost on the dot simultaneously warms and twists something inside her. She hopes he is always this endearingly punctual; that it's not because he feels as though he is treading on thin ice.

She has so many things she wants to say to him.

She opens the door, and there he is, in the flesh, for the first time in just over a week, in a jacket and jeans, nose flushed from the chill. She aches just looking at him, at his earnest green eyes and his hair that she knows for a fact is as soft as it looks, and she so badly wants to touch, but she doesn't, just twists her hand into her sweater.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," she says back. At that moment, her watch beeps, signifying the new hour, and they both jump a little. "Sorry, just—my watch."

"Oh," he says. "Okay. Sorry I was—early, then."

"By ten seconds."

He shrugs.

She doesn't really know what to say to that, so she steps back to let him in.

He is very careful with how he moves, like he's thinks he's imposing, which is so unlike the Percy she's gotten to know that something sort of twists in her chest. He takes off his jacket and then sort of pauses with it halfway down his arms, like he isn't sure where to put it, so Annabeth takes it from him and hangs it on the banister. "Should I—" he says, and when she turns he's got half a sneaker off.

"You can keep them on," she says, "if you want."

"Oh," he says, and takes them off anyway. God, it's so awkward. She can't look him in the eyes; evidently, he can't either, with how focused he is on taking his shoes off. He bends down a little to tuck them against the wall and spends an extra few seconds straightening them, absurdly, like that matters, like she'll get mad if they're not exactly parallel to the moulding. Then he straightens and inanely she realises that they are both in socks, and hers has a hole in the heel where it's been worn down from overuse, and then they're looking at each other and she can see the tension, palpably, in the air between them. His fingers keep moving, tapping against his thighs, and she has to stop herself from looking at them so she says, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, that's okay."

A pause. They've never been this awkward around each other. Annabeth isn't sure whose fault it is.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" she says.

It's not until she's halfway up the stairs and starts seeing lint in the carpet and the stains on the wallpaper that she realises she can't remember the last time she's had a friend over. Piper and Thalia have come before, of course, but as she wracks her brain she realises that it's been a long time: definitely not recently. Percy's one of the first people she's had over in a long while, and she's suddenly so conscious of the disorder of the house, how long it's been since any of them picked up a hoover, or sponge. She kicks a stray cleat off the landing and hurriedly closes the door to the bathroom when she realises that it's also an utter disaster from the twins getting ready for school that morning, toothpaste still in the sink and clothes on the floor.

"Sorry about the mess," she mutters, embarrassed. "I didn't realise it was this bad."

"No, it's okay," Percy says. "Sort of nice."

She gives him an incredulous look. "Nice."

"Yeah, lived-in. You know."

Out of all the adjectives she can think of, lived-in would the last she'd use to describe the house, but it's a nice enough compliment, so she just leaves it.

She shows Percy into her room, and he pauses in the very middle of it, like he's taking everything in. Seeing him standing surrounded by all her things feels disarming; for so long she'd been so careful to keep him separated from her real life, like he was a doorway into a nicer, sunnier land, removed from reality, that having him now, in her room, feels like the strangest of contradictions. It humanises him, too: paints him in finer clarity, like for the first time she is seeing him for every rough edge he has.

It's a little sad, but also not. Because human Percy is just as beautiful, if not more so.

"I like your room," he says, into the silence, and it's such a Percy thing to say that she can't help the snort that escapes her. "What?"

"I like your room? Really?"

"I don't know," he says, "I don't really know what to say."

Right. So they're doing this now. Annabeth twists her fingers hard, fits her thumbnail in the scar, presses hard. "Do you want to sit down?" she says, quietly.

"On the bed?"

"If you want."

"Oh. Okay." Percy does, hesitantly, picks at the knee of his jeans. She's never seen him look like this: awkward and vulnerable and unsmiling. She sits down next to him, keeping a careful space between them; when they look up, they instinctively turn to each other, and their knees are but a finger space apart. If she reached forward, she could fit the breadth of her hand in it, feel the press of their legs either side of her hand: but she doesn't, just tucks it between her hands.

For a long, long moment, they sit there in silence. and then Percy says, quietly, "Annabeth, I'm so sorry."

She looks up. He isn't looking at her, instead he is keeping his eyes firmly on his comforter, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

"I didn't—I never meant to hurt you," he says. "You have to know that." He looks up, then. "I promise. I wasn't—it was real, to me. All of it. It was never a prank."

His expression is nothing but painfully earnest. "When did you find out?"

"When you came over to Piper's, and she was video-calling me. You—" He swallows, audibly. "You talked about me. Or, the locker-mate. And I just—I realised that it was you, and—I panicked. I should have told you then."

"Yeah," she says quietly, "you should've."

"I just—" He sighs, frustratedly. "I didn't want to lose you. What we had."

This is a little surprising. "Why would that change?"

He gestures around him. "Look at us, Annabeth. We can't even look at each other. You're telling me if I told you straight up you wouldn't have reacted badly?"

She bites her tongue at that, because he has a point. Annabeth is a lot of things but she thinks the worst one is a coward.

"Sorry," he says, "I shouldn't have—said that."

"No, it's okay," she says, strangely calm, because she thinks that it is, and he glances at her. "It's not... not true."

His eyes flicker. She swallows, rubs her palms up and down her thighs.

"I... don't like talking about myself," she says. She sort of feels like she is picking her own flesh off her bones and handing it to him and she can't look at him in the eyes, so she looks down at her hands instead, at the chipping nail polish, the nail mark from all those months ago. "About—things going on in my life. I always feel like I'm just complaining and I—hate being weak. I know if I told people – if I told Thalia and Piper, about what's going on, they'd treat me differently, and I just—" She swallows. "I have such a good thing with them, you know? I am so lucky that I have them. And I just couldn't bear it if that changed because of me.

"They know a bit. They know my parents aren't—together. Piper knows they're divorced, and Thalia does too, probably. And they probably suspect a bit more, about me not sleeping, and stuff. But that's sort of it. I—I didn't tell anyone. And then you."

"And then me," Percy echoes, quietly.

She picks hard at the seam of her jeans. She doesn't look at him. "I think—not knowing who you were sort of made it easier, to tell you things. Because we didn't know each other, so—you couldn't treat me any differently. And I wanted to hate you so badly, because you were so annoying, and you got crumbs in my locker and you spilled grape juice on my notes but then you rewrote them and—" She stops abruptly with a sharp exhale, and puts her hands over her eyes. "The notes sort of kept me together," she confesses, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "Having them—having you, it – sort of became my outlet. And after a while I think I stopped seeing you as a person, and started treating you like a diary. And that wasn't fair of me."

"But I was the same," Percy says, "I told you things too, it wasn't—"

"No, I know, I know." She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, hard. "No, I know, I just... When you told me, that it was you—I just got really, really scared."

She risks dropping her hands and glancing at him. He looks a little confused, eyes flickering. "Scared?"

"You just—" She sighs, frustratedly. "You knew all these things about me. For the first time I realised that—that all the stuff I'd been writing down, they were going to someone, to you, and you were standing in front of me and you knew everything, you knew every single ugly piece of me, and I just—I just panicked."

Percy watches her.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you out," she says quietly. "You didn't—you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry I reacted like that. I just got really scared. I felt like I'd just been cornered."

"I didn't mean to make you feel like that," Percy says.

"I know. And I didn't realise that then, but—but I had time to think about it, properly, and I guess I put some things into perspective." Half-heartedly: "Perspective changes a lot of things, I guess."

Percy's lips twitch. "Yeah."

"I know you would never do anything to purposely hurt me. I know that. You are one of the kindest people I've ever known." She exhales, picks at her jeans. "I guess that's maybe also a part of it? I just—I don't know. Felt sort of insecure, around you."

"Insecure?"

She can't look at him. "You are so—beautiful, Percy. It's taken a while for me to even think I could be good enough for you."

There is a beat. When she risks a glance up at him, he looks thoughtful, but sadly so.

"Is that what you meant?" he says softly. "In your note? When you said... you said that you were worried I was good and you... weren't?"

She nods, mutely.

He frowns, and licks his lips. "But... you know that I'm... not, though, right?"

"Not what?"

"Not that good. I meant what I said. No one is that good."

"You are," she says, but he's shaking his head.

"No, I'm not. I—" He breaks off, frustrated. "I told you, about—about Gabe? And how I sort of had issues with anger management? Things sucked, for a while, after him. I was sort of a nightmare. I didn't know to process what had happened and sometimes I'd just so overwhelmed that I'd just—lash out. I lashed out at my mom, Annabeth, who is the best person in the whole world. And even now—even now, sometime, there are moments where I feel so angry, and I don't know how to deal with it. It's why—it's why I'm still in counselling, you know? I'm not—I'm not that good, Annabeth. And I'm—I'm scared that you only like the idea of me. I've got ugly parts too, you know? You think when I found out who you were I didn't also freak out? The fact that the girl I liked knew all these deep terrible things about me was—terrifying. But then you told me all that stuff about—about your parents, and your fears, and how you don't sleep, and I thought—okay, so we're both not super well put-together, but you wouldn't judge me for that."

Annabeth's throat feels thick. "That's not why I think you're so good."

"Then why?"

"Because—because you let yourself be happy. Because you make dumb jokes and buy me coffee even after I've turned you down and you've got the most beautiful laugh ever and—it has nothing to do with you, or Gabe, or whatever."

"Then why would you think any of that stuff mattered to me?"

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"You are—you are like nothing I've ever met before. I meant it, when I said I wanted to get to know you. And I'm sorry for lying. I just—I had you, and I didn't want to let you go."

Her heart hammers in her chest. She picks at the seam of her jeans and then looks up at him, meets his eyes. "And what about now?"

"What about now?"

"What happens to us now?"

Percy swallows, audibly, before shrugging, a small smile playing at his lips. "I don't know."

"Aren't you meant to be psychic?"

"Not this time."

His eyes are imploring, and so, so patient. He is so lovely: and maybe, she can be, if she lets herself. "I'd like if we... picked up where we left off. Before I freaked out."

"In a cold park?"

Be brave. "With you taking me on a date."

Percy's eyebrows lift, and his lips curl into a smile. "You'd want that?"

"You're really special to me," she confesses. "I don't—want to let that go, just yet. If that's okay with you."

"Do you even have to ask?"

She manages a laugh, because she can't believe it. By Percy's grin, he can't either.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. One hundred times yes."

She smiles back breathlessly at him. She's sure her smile matches the size of his. She has never seen something so beautiful.

They don't leave her room for the rest of the evening. There will be a time that they talk, she knows, talk about everything properly, about Smelly Gabe, about her parents, about her fears, and his too, about everything, but for now they curl on her bed and put a movie on her laptop and talk quietly over it, and then when the movie finishes, they let it autoplay to the next movie Netflix recommends because they can't stop talking. At some point past eleven Percy nods off against her shoulder, and Annabeth watches him: she is tired, too, but she knows sleep won't come, so she reaches for her headphones and plugs them in and puts on another movie. She'll be here when he wakes up, just like last time.

At twelve past midnight, her phone on her dresser buzzes. She reaches for it.

Piper: can you believe another raccoon went for my shoes tonight, I honestly think they're out to get me

Annabeth smiles.

Annabeth: racconspiracy

Piper: SHE SPEAKS

Piper: also -3/10 pun usage, that was weak

Piper: how are things with percy? did you manage to talk things out? is everything good?

Annabeth glances down at Percy asleep on her shoulder, drooling. She doesn't think she's been this happy in a long time.

Annabeth: everything is good.

A/N well that was certainly very long! thank u dearly if you stuck through with that to the very end, i'm aware this is a bit of a monster, but thanks so much for everyone's lovely comments last chapter! you are all very sweet

(also fun fact: this story has 194 colons in it. literally what the hell. why do i need so many colons.)

anyway hope u enjoyed that! lmk what u think :-]