Archive of Our Own ^beta

Annabeth sits on the rickety old porch swing attached to the big house in silence. Her knees are brought up to her chest, and she listens to the sound of the night while looking up at the starry sky above. She’d taught Percy those constellations. In hushed whispers in the grass, or on the beach. 

Things were simpler between them back then. They were happier. Much less angry at each other, certainly. She misses those times, more than she can say. But now, after their fiasco of a quest in the Labyrinth, there's a palpable tension between them, an unspoken weight that hangs heavy in the air. She wonders when– how it had all changed so quickly. When did their easy banter turn into sharp jabs at each other? When did their shared adventures become overshadowed by constant arguments and misunderstandings?

Annabeth can’t really pinpoint it exactly, but the arrival of Rachel into the picture definitely had some part of it. Annabeth can practically feel her blood pressure rise at the thought of the mortal’s name. She’d practically forced her way into their lives, and gods, she had no right to just interfere with Annabeth’s quest. With her quest. Not to mention the way she’s been pulling Percy away from them (from her) while they’re in the middle of the fight of their lives. It’s even more infuriating that Percy doesn’t seem to care even a little bit. And yeah, she’s holding a whole lot of bitterness towards her best friend about this. 

She closes her eyes and lets the soft night breeze brush her face, trying to allow it to soothe her. It doesn’t work. 

Footsteps approach her, and she doesn’t open her eyes as the person sits on the small porch swing beside her. Annabeth doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Percy. She knows the weight of his steps, the rhythm of his breathing. She doesn’t say anything, either, and her best friend finally speaks. 

“We’d better get inside, or else the cleaning harpies will come eat us or something.” 

And though Annabeth is angry at him, she can’t help but smile at Percy’s attempt to lighten the mood, despite the tension that’s been permeating between them for weeks. 

“Maybe we won’t have to fight if we do,” Annabeth says dryly, opening her eyes to look at him. Percy gives her a lopsided smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Fight in the war?” He asks, and Annabeth shrugs. 

“That, or with each other. I’m not particular.” The words escape her before she gets the chance to stop them. Percy's smile fades slightly at Annabeth's response, and he shifts on the swing, the creak of the old wood filling the silence between them. There's a heaviness in the air, a weight that Annabeth can’t seem to get rid of. 

“We don’t have to fight, you know,” Percy says softly, and Annabeth rests her chin on her knees. 

“I know,” she says. Percy lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for the right words. Annabeth can feel the tension radiating off him, matching the knot of unease twisting in her own stomach.

"I hate this, Annabeth," Percy admits, his voice barely above a whisper, and a lump forms in Annabeth’s throat. “I just–” he breaks off, and he looks up at Annabeth, sea green eyes meeting gray ones. She knows it’s cliche, but she could get lost in those eyes forever. But they’re filled with something like grief and disappointment, and Annabeth wants to run, because she never wants him to look at her like that, ever. 

“I know,” she finally says, looking away and swallowing hard, and they fall into silence again. They listen to the faint sounds of the dying campfire and the soft sounds of the ocean and the lake a few dozen feet away. It’s peaceful, a bit of a soothing balm for the tension between the two of them. If she pretends, she can almost believe that everything is okay. That they aren’t always at each other’s throats, that they aren’t falling apart at the seams. 

“Can we talk about it?” Percy finally says, a tremor in his voice that makes a surge of guilt rise inside of her.

“What is there to talk about?” she replies in a falsely flat voice. Percy lets out a sigh that appears to be a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. 

“I don’t know… everything, I guess.” 

Annabeth shifts uncomfortably on the swing, letting her legs hang off the sides, feet touching the wooden deck. “Everything,” she echoes softly. It’s a loaded word. A dangerous word. One that if breached, will open wounds and possibly cause them to argue even more. But she cares about Percy more than anyone, and the way they’ve been fighting hasn’t made her life better. “Gods, Percy. Where do we even start?”

A low laugh escapes her best friend’s lips, and he rocks the swing with his foot. Percy leans back on the porch swing, his gaze fixed on the stars above, seemingly lost in thought. Annabeth watches him for a moment, the faint moonlight casting shadows on his face, highlighting the worry lines that have become more pronounced in recent weeks.

"I guess we start from the beginning," Percy finally says, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of uncertainty. Annabeth smiles wryly. 

“That’s a bit broad,” she says. “Do you mean the beginning when we first met? When we couldn’t stand each other?”

“Or whenever. I’m not particular.”

“Shut up,” Annabeth says, shooting him a small smile. 

Percy shrugs, grinning back at her. “You asked.” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes, catching glimpses of the stars above them. They fall into silence again, and Percy sighs. 

“I miss this Annabeth," he admits, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. "I miss... being able to hang out without biting each other’s heads off. I miss… I don't know, the way things used to be."

Annabeth’s heart sinks a little. “So do I,” she replies softly. And it’s true. Despite her frustration with her best friend, she can't deny the ache in her chest, the longing for things to be simple again, to laugh and joke without the weight of their disagreements looming over them. And she knows. She knows it won't be easy to bridge the gap that has grown between them over the past few months. It's not just about Rachel or the current quest—they've been drifting apart for a while now, their connection strained by the weight of their responsibilities and the scars of past battles.

She knows she's not blameless in their current situation. She's allowed her frustration and jealousy to simmer beneath the surface, to manifest in snide remarks and passive-aggressive jabs. It's a defense mechanism, a way to protect herself. It’s a poor mechanism, but a mechanism nonetheless.

But she misses him. A lot.

“I don’t know what to do,” Annabeth says finally. “About any of this.” Percy shifts beside her, the porch swing creaking softly as he moves. His gaze drifts from the stars to Annabeth, and she can see the conflict written on his face, embedded in his sea green eyes she’s sure is mirrored in her own gray ones. 

“Neither do I,” he murmurs. They stare at each other for a long moment, and despite all of the bitterness and frustration that have clouded their friendship lately, she knows– knows, that she loves him. She loves him with a fierceness that scares her, and here it is, rising inside her, threatening to overwhelm her with the feeling of it all. 

And for a moment, Annabeth considers telling him. Considers letting him know just how in love with him she is. They’re on the tip of her tongue, those three little words, heavy with emotion and anticipation. It would be so easy to just tell him. 

But would it fix anything? She honestly doesn’t know, and that more than anything frightens her. Things between them are so off, so strained and broken. What if she told him, and he didn’t reciprocate? What if it made things worse, not better? She opens her mouth. 

“Percy, I–” She breaks off, and Percy furrows his brow, expression shifting, a mixture of curiosity and concern crossing his features as he waits for Annabeth to continue. She takes a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to force the words out. But the words remain lodged in her throat, heavy and unspoken.

“Annabeth?” Percy asks softly. The weight of the words feels suffocating, and she swallows. They’re close. Very close, and Annabeth’s breath hitches. And instead of speaking, she leans closer, her hand finding his on the swing between them. 

“Annabeth.” Percy whispers her name again, and she searches his expression, asking silently for permission, and Percy’s hand travels up to the nape of Annabeth’s neck in response. It’s all she needs, the surprising intimacy of that touch, and she closes the remaining distance between them, pressing her lips against his. It’s a tentative kiss, soft, and slow, and it fills Annabeth with emotions she didn’t even know was possible to feel. 

There's a warmth in the gentle way he holds her steady that sends shivers down her spine, a sense of familiarity and safety that she doesn't realize she’s been longing for until now. She marvels at how well they seem to fit together, at how completely right this feels, and lost in the moment, she forgets about everything else except for the sensation of being with him. Even the countless stars above seem to fade into nothing as she allows Percy to pull her closer, her lips moving against his own. 

But then reality crashes down around her like a wave colliding with stone, and what is she doing?

She pulls away abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest as she stares wide-eyed at Percy, her mind racing with a mix of panic and confusion. Because once again she’s crossed a line she never intended to cross.

“Annabeth,” Percy says, voice hoarse, “what was–” 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t– I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–” She stands abruptly, hand slipping from Percy’s grasp. Her heart pounds, running a million miles a second, and she takes a step back. “I need to– I need to go. Harpies, you know?”

“Annabeth wait–”

But she doesn’t wait to hear the rest of Percy’s sentence. 

She can’t. 

She needs to get away, to run, to escape the suffocating weight of what’s just happened between the two of them, to escape the confusion swirling in her mind. Without looking back, she rushes down the porch steps, her footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night.

He calls after her. 

She doesn’t look back.