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THE THING ABOUT A HIGH SCHOOL RELATIONSHIP is while it's Percy And Annabeth, it's also very rarely just them. At camp there were always friends around and during the school year nearly all their time together is spent at Percy's apartment, which means Percy's parents. Well, his mother and step-dad. But they're very much a 'parental unit' even if neither of them is the sort of parent that Annabeth is used to.
Annabeth's prior experience with adults looks mostly like Chiron, who (being both an immortal and a centaur) is not exactly a blueprint for a father figure—that and the fact that he never set out to parent her, he was running an entire camp. Then there was Annabeth's mother—the harsh and demanding goddess—who Annabeth had seen less than a dozen times in her entire life. And her step mother—unlike Percy's laid back and familiar step father, her step mother had never really been anything warmer than neutral towards her. Annabeth tended to take it as a win if she wasn't openly antagonistic. Her dad has to be the biggest contrast though. Despite various attempts from both sides over the years, their relationship never got past tumultuous. No matter what well meaning but ill-informed observers said, it was impossible to overcome the level of neglect that led a seven year old to run away and not come home for six years. They had settled into an estranged but functional agreement: he pays her tuition and puts money into her account. There's not much of a relationship there, she's starting to think there might never be. It's just another thing that doesn't make a lot of sense. It's all very complicated: some days it hurts, some days she never even thinks about him.
So it's hard for her to fit Percy's family apartment into her worldview. She always feels like at some point she will have spoken once too often or too loud or show up uninvited or overstay her welcome and the veneer will shatter. But it's been weeks and, impossibly, she hasn't seen anything to validate those fears.
It's a Wednesday afternoon in early October and the air feels more like chilly mist than anyone would like when Percy calls Annabeth.
"Are you coming over?"
She sighs, and stares down at the chaotic ink splotches in her planner. She wants to. "Aren't your parents going to get sick of me hanging around all the time?"
The truth is that her visits to the Jackson-Blofis apartment, formerly reserved for Friday evenings and weekends, had somehow recently become a near daily occurrence. She was midway through the semester and six weeks into a new relationship. She had, however, dodged and declined invitations and implications the past few days because of just that—his parents, who, while they had never given any outward indication of displeasure at her presence, she was nevertheless nervous about presuming upon.
He laughs. Then theres the awkward silence where he has to realize she was being serious. "You're kidding right, Annabeth? My mom loves you. I think she likes you more than me."
"Now that's impossible and you know it."
He laughs again, self conscious. "Seriously, she doesn't care."
"I just don't want to...impose." Impose is such a proper word. A polite word. A grown up word. She tries it out, feeling like a child.
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he says quickly. "but I like it when you come over. And my mom doesn't care."
Not all homes are like yours, Annabeth. Not all children are considered underfoot, Annabeth. You're practically adults, Annabeth. "What would we even do?"
"Homework. Watch TV. Literally anything."
"Ok" she says, smiling into her gloved hand. There it is again, the sunshine feeling that is somehow always not far behind a conversation with Percy. 'Anything' he just wants her there. She wants to be there and he wants her there. What a remarkable coincidence. "Ok"
In all reality it's way too early in the season for it to already be this cold, but New York weather rarely complies with logic. Annabeth wraps herself in a coat and a scarf and takes the train to Percy's place. It's more familiar now, the sort-of-broken buzzer at the door and the long trek up five flights of stairs. New York is still just a place that Annabeth lives, not a place she feels like she belongs. People ask where she's from and she's never sure how to answer: family from Boston, raised in Virginia, grew up on Long Island, spent some time in San Francisco, moved to New York City.
Annabeth can learn how to ride the subway and walk the organized street grid of downtown, but she doesn't make sense here the way that Percy does. The way he makes sense in this apartment and in the parks and sidewalks of New York.
The way he never really talks about moving away when he's older.
Annabeth can't imagine loving some place so much she'd want to stay there the rest of her life. But she wants to. Well, she wonders what it would feel like to want to. And that's almost wanting.
She's sixteen years old and not a terrible lot makes sense.
What does make sense is how she feels when Percy folds her into a hug in the doorway of his apartment, warm after the cold walk over. It makes sense, so she clings to it, and tries not to think about the rest.
Paul isn't home yet and Percy and Sally are in the middle of making dinner. When she had first met him, Annabeth would never have guessed Percy was a competent cook, but he takes after his mom. The apartment smells like garlic and simmering meat, making her even hungrier than she already was. Three's a crowd in Percy's kitchen, so she takes a seat at the table while he and his mom continue in a complicated dance of 'behind you' and 'check the sauce' and 'can you grab that knife, no the other one'. Annabeth knows how to operate the microwave and sink in her dorm's community kitchenette; it's about the extent of her culinary skills. Food has never really struck Annabeth as more than necessary fuel, but in the Jackson house mealtimes are both an event and a labor of love.
It's something she loves to be caught up in, even as a court side observer. It's another thing about Percy that's just enchanting. It makes her want to stay, endears her to the process.
The days end obscenely early—sunset casts the apartment into grays just after six and the lights come on, shifting evening to a cozy night. After dinner Sally sits in the living room, typing away at her computer—a manuscript for her first novel. They end up going to Percy's room—ostensibly to do homework. Annabeth, full of good intentions and delusions of honor roll grandeur, slouches cross legged on Percy's bed staring at curse disguised as a Physics word problem. Percy sits at his cluttered desk tapping out an English essay on a school issued tablet. At some point looking around and trying to conceive of the energy operating in this problem turned into watching Percy at work, studying the hunch of his shoulders and the halting way he approaches the keyboard, the neat knot of his camp necklace peeking out above his t-shirt collar and his mess of dark hair and—
"Annabeth?"
"Huh?"
"Are you literally just staring at me?"
"Maybe. Probably not."
"Why?" he gestures grandly to himself. "See something you like?"
She throws a pillow at him. "Please."
He gets up to return it and stands over her smirking.
"What?" she demands, trying not to smile and failing.
He leans an inch from her face and says in a ridiculous voice "Wait, Annabeth, do you like like me?"
"Maybe."
"Oh my god," he whispers. "that is so embarrassing."
"You fucking dork," she says, and pushes herself up on her knees until she has him in a kiss.
He just laughs, flops down on the bed next to her. "You love it."
And she does, which is why she drags her feet like none other at nine o'clock when she's flirting with her dorm's curfew and she has to wrap back up in her coat and scarf and shoulder her backpack and follow Percy to the door of the apartment.
Annabeth says goodbye to Sally and thanks her for dinner. Sally says it was a pleasure and tells her to take care.
She stalls in the doorway, her hand idly on the knob, to kiss Percy quickly on the cheek.
But he pulls her in and kisses her again and—oh. She doesn't ever want it to stop. And suddenly the enormity of the moment threatens to burst inside her, it doesn't stop swelling even after he pulls away and sweetly says "good night".
His hands are still at a comfortable place on her hips. She can feel the pressure of his fingers through three layers of clothing, it's no different than a dozen times when he kissed her before.
She says "good night", too.
His hands disappear from her hips when she opens the door. She feels the phantoms of them the whole way home. The city seems bright and lit up at angles she's never seen before. Her mind is buzzing with something—with substantial four letter words like home, like love. She wonders if this is what being in love feels like. If so, she thinks, this isn't near as terrifying as people paint it out to be. It's just loud and good and racing through her and she feels like smiling and she never wants it to stop.
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