Archive of Our Own

Annabeth

Annabeth Chase knew she should not be staring. She knew, in theory, that she should have been sketching the next turn of the Labyrinth, or at least pretending she didn’t notice how easily Percy laughed at Rachel’s jokes. But the noise carried over anyway—bright, easy laughter spilling out of him, a sound that had once felt private, like something she earned.

And there Rachel was, red curls catching sunlight like flame, green eyes sharp and mischievous, tongue quicker than Hermes himself. She didn’t flinch at Percy’s sarcasm, didn’t roll her eyes at his dumb observations—she met them, parried them, doubled them back until he looked at her with that look. The one that made Annabeth’s stomach twist.

That look that said you’re brilliant, you surprise me, you matter.

Annabeth gripped her pencil until it snapped.

She shouldn’t have cared. She shouldn’t—the world was ending under Daedalus’s stone halls, Kronos was rising, and here she was, suffocating under the weight of her own chest. But she couldn’t stop the thought circling like a vulture, ugly and relentless:

What if Percy just wasn’t into girls like her?

What if all his smiles, all his loyalty, all the times he chose her to stand beside him—what if none of it meant attraction, not really?

Because Rachel Elizabeth Dare was the kind of girl the world handed boys like Percy on a silver platter. Pale skin, red hair, sharp wit, a kind of wild charm that demanded attention. And Annabeth knew the stories—knew how often boys like him, with sun-touched curls and sea-blue eyes, fell for girls like Rachel. Girls who were white. Girls who fit in glossy magazine covers and summer movie posters.

Annabeth was not blind. She’d grown up knowing what it meant to walk into a room and see who drew the eyes first. Not her. Not the Black girl with the braids and the brown eyes that the world rarely called remarkable. She’d learned young that you could be brilliant, resourceful, strong—and still, people would look right past you.

But she hadn’t expected Percy to.

And yet, watching the way his shoulders loosened around Rachel, the way he leaned in without realizing it, Annabeth felt the crack split deeper.

“Annabeth?” Grover nudged her, eyebrows raised. “You okay? You’ve been glaring at your paper for ten minutes.”

She forced her voice level. “Fine. Just working.”

But she wasn’t fine. The drawings in her notebook blurred. All she could see was Rachel’s pale hand brushing against Percy’s when she handed him a pen. The flush creeping across his face.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to matter. Percy was her best friend. He was—he was hers, in ways she didn’t even know how to name yet. She trusted him with her life. She had followed him into fire, into prophecy, into every impossible corner of their world.

But that trust didn’t erase the gnawing fear: that when it came to choosing someone to love, someone to want, he might look straight past her.

Because Rachel was safe. Rachel was the kind of girl who didn’t carry the weight of history in her skin. Rachel wouldn’t have to wonder if she was someone’s “type.” Rachel could just be, and Percy could just like her, no questions, no baggage.

And Annabeth—Annabeth was left with the silence of maybe.

She remembered, with a bitterness that hollowed her ribs, the day Thalia had teased her about Percy. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?” Thalia had laughed, electric and unbothered. Annabeth had denied it, cheeks burning, but secretly she’d clutched the thought close. Because if Thalia saw it, maybe it was real. Maybe it wasn’t just in her head.

Now, watching Percy grin at Rachel like she’d hung the constellations, Annabeth wished she could crawl out of her own skin.

She hated herself for it—hated that she cared, hated that she compared. She wasn’t insecure about being Black. She loved her braids, the way they swung when she moved. She loved the warmth of her skin, the sharpness of her features, the way she looked like her mother and her father all at once. She loved being Annabeth Chase.

But loving herself didn’t cancel out the truth: not everyone else loved it. Not everyone else saw it as enough.

And what if Percy—sweet, stupid, infuriating Percy—was one of them?

What if all the moments she replayed in her head—the times he’d pulled her out of danger, the nights they’d sat awake whispering, the way his voice softened when he said her name—what if all of that was just friendship? What if she had been building castles in the sand, waiting for a tide that would never come?

Because Percy was looking at Rachel like maybe she was the answer to a riddle he’d never solved.

And gods, it hurt.

“Annabeth?” Percy’s voice cut through her spiral, low and earnest. She hadn’t even realized he’d crossed the room until he was crouched beside her. Blue eyes searching hers. “You okay? You look… I don’t know. Pale.”

The irony stung.

“I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant to. She closed her notebook so he wouldn’t see the fracture lines in her sketches. “Go back to Rachel.”

He blinked, confusion clouding his face. “What? I was just—”

But she couldn’t hear it. Not now. Not when the sound of her own pulse was louder than his voice.

She stood, shoving her pencil behind her ear like armor. “We’ve got work to do. The Labyrinth isn’t going to solve itself.”

She walked away before he could follow, before he could ask what she meant.

Because the truth was ugly, and she wasn’t ready to let it spill:

That she was terrified he would never want her. That every laugh he gave Rachel was another nail in the coffin of her hope. That she could fight monsters and gods, but she couldn’t fight the possibility that Percy Jackson simply wasn’t attracted to Black girls.

And the cruelest part?

She couldn’t even blame him for it.

———

Annabeth wasn’t sure how her feet had carried her there. She had walked out of the arena still shaking from drills, had cut across the strawberry fields, and before she realized it, she was standing in front of the Aphrodite cabin.

It gleamed like always, pastel pinks and gold accents catching the late afternoon sun, perfume and roses drifting through the doorway. She never came here—not unless she had to. It wasn’t her place. She was an Athena kid, a builder, a fighter. The Aphrodite girls were… well, they were Aphrodite girls. Lip gloss, giggles, soft hands and sharper eyes than anyone gave them credit for.

But Annabeth knew better than most. Over the years, when she had needed them—really needed them—they had shown her kindness. When she was younger, when her hair had been tangled and wild after quests, the Aphrodite girls had taken her in, brushed it out without judgment, hummed songs while they braided it neat. When she’d come back to camp bleeding from monster fights, they had pressed salves into her hands with gentle fingers and no questions. They could be snobby, yes, but when it mattered, they were the ones who always seemed to notice when something in you was breaking.

And Annabeth was breaking.

She hesitated on the porch, torn between pride and desperation. Then the door opened before she could decide. Silena Beauregard stood there, framed by perfume and soft light, curls tumbling over her shoulders like spun silk. She was radiant in a way that made Annabeth feel even smaller, but Silena’s eyes—warm, sharp, knowing—softened instantly when they landed on her.

“Annabeth?” Silena’s voice lowered. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Annabeth blinked, startled. She hadn’t even spoken, hadn’t said a word. But Silena was already reaching for her hand, tugging her inside like she knew.

The cabin was a flurry of soft laughter, curling irons, and the scent of roses and strawberries. Girls sat cross-legged on beds, painting each other’s nails, braiding hair, swapping magazines. A few of them looked up curiously when Annabeth entered, but Silena didn’t give them time to whisper. She guided Annabeth straight to the back, to her neatly made bed draped in rose-colored quilts.

“Sit,” Silena ordered gently, her hand still wrapped around Annabeth’s.

Annabeth sat because she didn’t trust her legs to hold her. Her throat felt too tight.

Silena knelt in front of her, careful eyes searching her face. “You’ve been carrying something heavy,” she said softly. “Tell me.”

Annabeth wanted to laugh—wanted to say she didn’t do this. She didn’t come here to cry about boys. She didn’t spill her feelings to girls with perfect eyeliner. She was Annabeth Chase. She built walls, not broke them.

But Silena just waited. Patient. Certain.

And suddenly, Annabeth couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It’s Percy,” she blurted. Her voice cracked on his name. “It’s Percy and—and Rachel Dare.”

Silena’s expression flickered, but she didn’t interrupt.

Annabeth’s hands twisted in her lap. “They’re so close. He laughs with her, he—he looks at her like she’s the only person in the world. And I—” She broke off, tears burning behind her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking maybe he doesn’t—maybe he’ll never look at me that way.”

Silena tilted her head, brows furrowed. “You think he likes Rachel?”

Annabeth shook her head hard. “It’s not just that. It’s… it’s me. It’s what if Percy doesn’t even… like girls like me.”

The words came out raw, heavier than she expected. She clenched her fists. “What if he only likes white girls? What if he only ever sees someone like Rachel as—beautiful? As someone you fall for? And me—I’m just the friend, the sidekick, the brain. I’m not what boys like him want.”

The silence after her confession felt like a blade.

Silena’s face softened, but there was no pity in her gaze. Only a deep, steady sadness, like she’d heard this before.

“Oh, Annabeth,” she whispered. She reached out and took Annabeth’s hand, squeezing it firmly. “I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying that.”

Annabeth wanted to pull away, but she couldn’t. The touch grounded her.

“It’s not fair,” Annabeth muttered. Her voice trembled. “I’m not ashamed of being who I am. I love who I am. I love my hair, I love my skin, I love my family, all of it. But what if Percy doesn’t? What if he never—what if all this time, I’ve been waiting for something that won’t ever happen?”

Her throat closed up, tears threatening. “Because Rachel is—she’s witty, she’s fun, she’s beautiful, and she’s white. That matters. It does. People act like it doesn’t, but it does. What if that’s the difference?”

Silena was quiet for a long moment, her thumb brushing circles against Annabeth’s knuckles.

Finally, she said, “You’re right. It does matter. The world sees those things. People make choices—sometimes cruel choices—because of what they think beauty should look like. And it hurts. It hurts more than I can say.”

Annabeth’s chest ached.

“But Annabeth,” Silena continued, her voice steady, “Percy Jackson is not ‘boys like him.’ He’s Percy. And Percy has always looked at you like you hung the constellations.”

Annabeth’s head jerked up, startled. “He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does,” Silena said firmly. “You don’t see it, because you’re too close. But the rest of us? We’ve been watching for years. Do you know what he does, every time you walk into a room? His eyes find you. Every time. He doesn’t even realize it. And when you’re hurt, or upset, or angry—he’s the first one to notice. He’s the one who can’t breathe until you’re okay again.”

Annabeth swallowed hard. She wanted to believe it, but the doubt clawed too deep.

Silena leaned closer. “I can’t promise you he won’t laugh with Rachel. Or that he won’t find her interesting. But I can promise you this: Rachel Elizabeth Dare could stand in front of him with every spotlight in the world shining on her, and Percy would still be checking to see if you had a seat. That’s what love looks like, even if neither of you has admitted it yet.”

Love. The word shuddered through Annabeth like a tremor.

Silena’s eyes softened. “And as for you being beautiful—Annabeth, you walk into a room and the whole place bends around you. Not because you’re trying, not because you’re perfect, but because you’re real. You carry yourself like you know where you belong. That scares some boys. But it will never scare Percy.”

Annabeth’s breath hitched.

For the first time in days, the weight in her chest shifted—not gone, but lighter, just enough to breathe.

She whispered, “But what if I’m wrong? What if I let myself believe, and I’m wrong?”

Silena smiled, sad and wise. “Then you’ll survive it. You’re strong enough. But Annabeth—sometimes the scariest thing isn’t the monsters or the battles. Sometimes the scariest thing is letting yourself believe you are worthy of being loved exactly as you are. And you are.”

Annabeth’s tears spilled then, hot and unstoppable. She hadn’t cried like this in years, not since she was small. Silena pulled her into her arms without hesitation, holding her tight, rocking her gently like she had all the time in the world.

And Annabeth let herself be held.

For once, she didn’t fight.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were swollen, her throat raw. But she felt—lighter. Not healed, not fixed, but less alone.

Silena brushed a braid from her face. “Whenever you forget it, you come here. We’ll remind you.”

———

Percy

Breakfast at Camp Half-Blood was supposed to be safe. A sacred time, even. You got your plate, you scraped a bit into the fire for the gods, you sat down, and you didn’t think about quests or monsters until at least after bacon.

At least, that was Percy’s rule.

Which was why he was completely unprepared when Clarisse La Rue stomped up to him in the middle of breakfast and socked him right in the chest.

“OW! What the—Clarisse!” Percy sputtered, nearly dropping his goblet of blue Coke.

Clarisse didn’t give him a chance to recover. She punched him again. Harder. Right in the sternum.

“You absolute seaweed-brained idiot!” she barked, winding up for another blow.

Rachel, who had been mid-story about a mural she was painting at school, froze beside him. “Uh—should I…?” she asked, eyes darting between Percy and Clarisse like she wasn’t sure if she was witnessing a crime or just Tuesday morning at camp.

Clarisse landed another hit. Percy wheezed. “What did I do?!”

“You broke her heart, Jackson!” Clarisse snarled, jabbing him with her finger now, like her fist wasn’t making the point. “You better be ready, because I’m beating your sorry butt into the ground in training later!”

“Whose heart?” Percy gasped, clutching his chest. “What are you talking about?”

Another punch.

“Silena told me everything!” Clarisse growled. “And you—you’re gonna pay for it, you scrawny, oblivious little—”

“HEY!”

The voice sliced through the pavilion, sharp and unmistakable. Annabeth.

Percy turned just in time to see her storming over from the Athena table, braids swinging, brown eyes blazing like storm clouds ready to break. She grabbed Clarisse’s arm mid-swing.

“He didn’t do anything,” Annabeth snapped.

The world tilted for a second. Percy forgot how to breathe—not because Clarisse had knocked the air out of him (though, okay, she had), but because Annabeth was standing there, close enough that he caught the faint smell of cedar and the faintest hint of floral oil in her braids. Her hand gripped Clarisse’s wrist, firm and steady, and gods, Percy couldn’t look anywhere else.

Clarisse, of course, noticed. Her gaze flicked between Percy and Annabeth, her scowl shifting into something more complicated.

And just like that, she stepped back. Dropped her arm. “Fine,” she muttered, shoving Percy one last time for good measure. “But if he does screw up, Chase, I’m first in line to tear him apart.”

She stalked off toward the Ares table, muttering about seaweed brains and wasted punches.

Percy just sat there, stunned. His chest throbbed where Clarisse had made her point, but that wasn’t what had his heart pounding. It was Annabeth, still standing there, lips pressed tight, eyes unreadable.

“Uh—thanks,” he started, trying for casual. “I don’t know what that was, but—”

But Annabeth was already walking away. No explanation, no look back. Just gone, her braid swinging behind her like a curtain closing.

Percy blinked after her, confused.

“What the Hades just happened?” he muttered.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. “I think you almost died over breakfast,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, but… why?” Percy rubbed his chest, wincing. “Clarisse doesn’t just randomly beat people up for no reason. Okay, she does, but—she said something about Silena? And a broken heart?”

Rachel shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

But Percy wasn’t asking Rachel. His eyes were still on the Athena table, on the empty seat Annabeth had left behind.

⸻

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur. Percy couldn’t focus on anything—his food went cold, Rachel finished her story about the mural without him hearing a word, and all he could think about was Annabeth pulling Clarisse back. The fire in her eyes when she’d said he didn’t do anything. The way she hadn’t stayed long enough for him to say more than two words.

And Clarisse’s face—how it had changed when she saw him looking at Annabeth.

Percy shoved his plate away and ran a hand through his curls, restless.

None of it made sense.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even talked to Annabeth since yesterday. So why had Clarisse come at him like that? What did Silena tell her? And what did Annabeth mean, stepping in like that?

His stomach twisted.

Because here was the thing: for a split second, when Annabeth’s hand had grabbed Clarisse’s wrist, when her eyes had burned into his, Percy hadn’t felt confused. He hadn’t felt attacked.

He’d felt… caught. Like she had seen him, right down to the core, and he hadn’t minded one bit.

And that scared him more than Clarisse’s fists ever could.

⸻

Percy spent the rest of the morning restless. Sword practice with the Apollo kids didn’t help—he kept getting smacked in the ribs because his head wasn’t in it. By lunch, he was jumpy enough that even Grover noticed.

“Dude, you’re twitchier than a satyr in a thunderstorm,” Grover said, munching on a can. “What’s going on?”

Percy scowled, stabbing at his sandwich. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Grover said, clearly not buying it. “Nothing looks a lot like ‘I got punched in the chest by Clarisse in front of the entire camp this morning.’”

Percy groaned. “She said something about Silena telling her everything. And a broken heart. I don’t even know what she’s talking about.”

Grover tilted his head, ears twitching. “Maybe you should ask Annabeth?”

Percy froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

Ask Annabeth.

Except Annabeth had walked away this morning without giving him a chance. And something about the look on her face said she wasn’t about to hand him the answer if he asked.

Still… he couldn’t shake the way his chest had clenched when she’d stood up for him.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered finally. “Maybe I should.”

But when he glanced toward the Athena table, Annabeth wasn’t there.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, the empty seat felt louder than anything else in the pavilion.

———

Percy spent the better part of an hour pacing the camp like a lunatic.

He checked the Athena cabin first, but Annabeth wasn’t there—her siblings gave him sharp looks until he retreated before one of them threw a geometry textbook at his head. The library was empty. The climbing wall, too. He even circled the strawberry fields twice, ignoring the suspicious glances from the satyrs working there.

No Annabeth.

It shouldn’t have made him this restless. So what if she walked away after saving his butt from Clarisse? She didn’t owe him an explanation. Annabeth walked away from him all the time. But today felt different. Today there had been something in her eyes when she stopped Clarisse, something Percy didn’t know how to name but couldn’t stop replaying.

Finally, he ended up outside the Aphrodite cabin.

He wasn’t sure what he expected—that Annabeth would be inside, hiding among rose-scented pillows and perfume? She wasn’t exactly the “paint my nails and gossip” type. But his instincts had dragged him here, and usually his instincts, however seaweed-brained, weren’t wrong.

The door opened before he could knock.

Silena Beauregard stepped out, sunlight catching in her glossy curls. She blinked when she saw him, then her mouth curved into a knowing smile.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Camp Half-Blood’s punching bag of the morning,” she said lightly. “Chest still attached?”

Percy rubbed the sore spot Clarisse had tenderized. “Barely. Do you know what that was about? Because I swear I didn’t do anything.”

Silena studied him for a long moment. Percy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He was used to people looking at him like he was clueless, but Silena’s eyes felt like they could see straight through the fog in his head.

“Maybe you didn’t,” she said carefully. “But maybe that’s the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Percy asked, frowning.

Silena’s smile turned sly. “Walk with me.”

⸻

They ended up sitting at a picnic table on the edge of the training grounds. The smell of cedar and steel drifted from the armory nearby, but Silena’s perfume—roses and something faintly citrusy—wrapped around them, softer and calmer than Percy expected.

She pulled a stack of glossy magazines from her bag. Percy raised an eyebrow.

“You carry those around camp?”

“A girl has to have her resources,” Silena said breezily. She flipped one open and slid it across the table toward him. “Tell me what you think of her.”

Percy blinked at the page. It was a headshot of an actress—smiling, elegant, dark skin glowing against her gold dress. Her hair was twisted up in braids that shimmered in the light.

“She’s… nice,” Percy said slowly. “Confident. Like she knows she doesn’t have to try too hard.”

Silena hummed. “Interesting.”

She flipped the page, showing another actress. This one had softer curls framing her face, brown eyes catching the camera like they were hiding secrets.

Percy tilted his head. “She looks smart. Like she’d probably call me an idiot before she laughed at my jokes.”

“Mm-hm.” Silena’s lips twitched. “Go on.”

She kept turning pages. One actress with a high cheekbone structure and braids down her back. Another with coiled curls cropped short, her expression sharp enough to cut glass. Another with warm brown eyes that seemed to challenge whoever looked at them.

And every time, Percy found himself leaning closer, describing details that pulled at something familiar: her eyes were steady, her hair looked like it belonged in motion, her smile seemed rare but worth chasing, her posture said she’d fight you and win.

By the fifth or sixth photo, Silena didn’t even bother hiding her grin.

Percy scowled. “What? Am I picking wrong?”

“There’s no wrong,” Silena said lightly. “I just think you’re more transparent than you realize.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Silena leaned back, studying him like a puzzle she’d already solved. “Every single one you’ve picked? Strong. Sharp-eyed. Brown-skinned. Hair that makes a statement. Women who carry themselves like they know what they’re worth, even if the world forgets sometimes.”

Percy’s ears warmed. “Okay, so? What’s your point?”

“My point,” Silena said, “is that you’ve got a type.”

“I—what? No, I don’t.” Percy crossed his arms, defensive. “I just said what I thought. You told me to.”

“Exactly,” Silena said with maddening calm. “And what you thought, every single time, was Annabeth.”

The words hit like Clarisse’s fists all over again.

Percy opened his mouth to deny it, but the truth shoved its way past his defenses. Because she was right. Every description he’d given, every detail that had snagged his attention—it was Annabeth. Her braids, her sharp eyes, the way she called him an idiot with more affection than anyone else in the world.

And suddenly, Percy realized just how obvious he must have sounded.

“I…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, flustered. “That’s not—I mean, I didn’t—”

Silena only smiled, softer this time. “You don’t have to say it. I just wanted you to see it.”

Percy’s throat felt tight. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t see it,” Silena said simply. “Not yet. And she deserves to.”

Percy frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Silena shook her head. “That’s not my story to tell. Just… remember what you picked today. Remember who you see when you think of beautiful, Percy. It matters.”

He stared at her, still trying to untangle her words, but Silena stood, gathering her magazines.

“Good luck,” she said, voice warm but pointed. “And don’t make me and Clarisse come after you again.”

And with that, she swept back toward her cabin, leaving Percy blinking after her.

⸻

Percy sat at the picnic table long after she left, the magazines still spread open in front of him. Faces of strangers stared up at him—actresses he didn’t know, with eyes and braids and smiles that twisted his chest because they all reminded him of one person.

Annabeth.

He leaned back, groaning into his hands.

He hadn’t found her today. But maybe Silena had made sure he didn’t need to.

Because now, for the first time, Percy couldn’t lie to himself about what he saw every time he looked at Annabeth Chase.

And gods, it terrified him more than any monster ever had.

———

Silena

Silena Beauregard prided herself on being many things: patient, elegant, and endlessly understanding of people who couldn’t see what was right in front of them. She could coax confidence out of a shy camper, soothe a bruised ego with a dab of lip gloss, and—if she was feeling charitable—gently nudge two people toward the truth they were too blind to admit.

But Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were testing the limits of her divine patience.

Percy was hopeless. Oblivious. A boy who had no idea he wore his heart on his sleeve, no clue that half the camp could see the way his gaze magnetized toward Annabeth whenever she walked by. And Annabeth—gods bless her armor—was just as blind. She could catalog every structural flaw in a building, but she couldn’t see that the boy next to her was already collapsing for her.

So Silena decided to intervene.

And if she got a little entertainment out of it? Well, who could blame her?

The Stoll twins were easy enough to recruit.

Travis and Connor were infamous—half the camp still hadn’t forgiven them for replacing the dryads’ shampoo with neon green dye last summer—but they were reliable in one sense: if you dangled a couple of drachmas, they would do anything.

And so, when Silena slid a neat little pouch of coins across their table, they leaned in immediately.

“What’s the job?” Travis asked, smirking.

Silena folded her arms, her smile all Aphrodite mischief. “At tonight’s bonfire, Percy and Annabeth will be sitting together. I want you two to flirt with her. Subtly. Not corny. Just enough to make Percy sweat.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Sweat how?”

“The jealous kind,” Silena said smoothly. “He’s too cowardly to say what he feels, and she’s too convinced he doesn’t feel it. So we give them a push.”

Travis grinned. “You’re playing matchmaker.”

“I’m expediting fate,” Silena corrected. “There’s a difference.”

The brothers exchanged a look that promised trouble. Then, in perfect unison, they said, “Deal.”

⸻

That night, the bonfire blazed bright and hot, sparks spinning into the dark like fireflies. Campers sprawled on logs and blankets, music strummed on guitars mixing with laughter and the occasional crack of marshmallows catching fire. The air smelled of pine, smoke, and sugar.

Silena sat cross-legged on a blanket with her cabinmates, but her eyes were on one group across the fire.

There they were: Percy, Annabeth, Rachel.

Percy had, of course, managed to get wedged between the two of them, the big idiot. He was laughing at something Rachel said, curls wild in the firelight, blue eyes bright. And Annabeth—fresh from the Aphrodite cabin with her new braids gleaming in the flames—rolled her eyes at him, but there was a smile tugging at her mouth she probably didn’t even realize she had.

It was painfully obvious to anyone watching.

Silena sighed. If the Fates weren’t going to hurry things along, she would.

She tilted her chin slightly. Across the circle, Travis and Connor caught the signal.

Showtime.

It started small.

Connor plopped himself on Annabeth’s other side, stretching his legs out casually. “Nice braids,” he said, tone easy. “They suit you. Sharp, like you.”

Annabeth blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… thanks.”

Percy stiffened. Silena smirked.

A few minutes later, Travis leaned in, snagging a marshmallow from Annabeth’s stick before she noticed. “Hey,” he said when she protested, “don’t give me that look. You’ve got plenty. And anyway, I just wanted an excuse to sit close enough to see how good you look in this light.”

Annabeth stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you—flirting with me?”

Travis grinned. “Maybe.”

Silena had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Percy had gone rigid, his gaze darting between Annabeth and Travis like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Rachel, bless her mortal heart, kept chatting about paint and colors, completely oblivious. Percy nodded distractedly, but his eyes never left Annabeth.

Perfect.

Over the next half hour, the Stolls played their parts beautifully.

Connor offered Annabeth his blanket when the night breeze picked up, making some sly comment about “can’t have our resident genius catching cold.”

Travis cracked a joke about Athena kids being too intimidating to approach—“except me, of course, because I’m brave”—and Annabeth actually laughed, shaking her head.

And Percy… oh, Percy squirmed.

He shifted on the log, his knuckles white on his knees, every muscle in his shoulders tense. Every time one of the twins leaned toward Annabeth, Percy’s jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth. When Connor draped the blanket over Annabeth’s shoulders, Percy’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to yank it off and throw it in the fire.

Silena drank it in like ambrosia.

This was better than any love story, because it was real. The way Percy’s eyes darted to Annabeth’s face after every joke. The way Annabeth—oblivious, uncomfortable, but secretly flattered—kept glancing back at Percy, like she wanted him to step in, like she needed him to.

Silena’s heart squeezed. For all her love of drama, she wanted this for them. Truly.

Still, watching Percy Jackson twist in his seat was pure bliss.

Finally, when Travis leaned close and murmured something that made Annabeth’s cheeks flush, Percy snapped.

“Okay, seriously!” he blurted, louder than he meant to. “Can you two back off?!”

The music faltered. Half the campers turned their heads.

Annabeth blinked at him. “Back off? They’re just—”

“They’re not just anything,” Percy said, scowling at the Stolls. “You don’t get to—” He cut himself off, color rising to his cheeks.

The twins, of course, looked smug as cats.

“Noted,” Connor said innocently. “We’ll stop bothering Annabeth.”

Travis winked at Annabeth before leaning back, satisfied.

And Percy—Percy was left red-faced, glaring at the fire, unable to look at Annabeth now that the words had slipped out.

Annabeth, for her part, looked stunned. Confused. But her eyes softened in a way Silena recognized. A tiny seed planted.

Yes, Silena thought, leaning back with a pleased sigh. That would do.

As the bonfire wound down, laughter and music rising again, Silena caught the Stolls’ eyes across the fire. She pressed a hand to her heart in mock gratitude. They saluted her with matching grins.

And Percy?

He hadn’t said the words outright. He probably didn’t even realize how much he’d given away. But Silena knew. She always knew.

Annabeth Chase might not believe it yet, but Percy Jackson was already hers.

And Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite, had just nudged them one step closer to realizing it.

———

Annabeth

The bonfire fizzled out slowly, like a spell breaking. Marshmallows turned to ash, laughter dulled into yawns, and one by one, campers drifted toward their cabins under the weight of the late hour.

Annabeth should have gone too. That would’ve been the easy choice—slip away into the dark, braid ends brushing her shoulders, pretend she hadn’t heard Percy’s voice rise across the fire. Pretend she hadn’t felt something clench sharp and unfamiliar when he’d snapped at the Stolls, his cheeks hot with a protectiveness she didn’t understand.

But she didn’t go.

Instead, she waited, standing in the shadows near the treeline as campers filtered past, her arms folded tightly against her chest. When she spotted Percy finally rising from the log, kicking at the dirt like he wanted to pick a fight with it, she stepped out.

“Jackson.”

He jumped, half-spinning toward her. His curls were even wilder from the smoke, his blue eyes wide and startled. “Annabeth? You—uh—you scared me.”

She ignored the way his voice caught. “Walk with me.”

For a second, she thought he’d refuse. That he’d mumble some excuse and vanish into the safety of his cabin, where she wouldn’t have to look at him and wonder why he’d just bared his teeth at the Stoll twins. But after a beat, he shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded.

They moved in silence, crunching over pine needles and gravel until the bonfire sounds were only a distant hum. The night air was cool, sharp, carrying the faint scent of smoke that clung to her braids.

Finally, Annabeth stopped near the canoe lake, the moonlight spreading silver across the water. She turned to him, her heart tapping unevenly against her ribs.

“Why were you so snappy?”

Percy blinked. “What?”

“At the twins.” She kept her voice even, though the words pressed hot against her throat. “They were just playing around. You didn’t have to… explode.”

He shifted uncomfortably, staring at the water instead of her. His profile was cut sharp in the moonlight, jaw tight. “They weren’t just playing.”

“They were,” Annabeth insisted. “It’s what they do. You know that. They flirt with everyone. You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, but not with you.”

The words landed like stones in her stomach.

Annabeth stared at him, her pulse roaring in her ears. Not with you. The Stolls flirted with everyone—she’d seen it, laughed it off a dozen times—but Percy had just confirmed the sick suspicion that had been scratching at her ribs all night.

Not with her.

Because why would they? Why would anyone?

Her voice came out clipped, brittle. “Right. Of course.”

Percy frowned, finally tearing his gaze from the lake to look at her. “What do you mean, ‘of course’?”

Annabeth’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “I mean, I get it now. They were messing with me. Playing some stupid joke. And you—what—decided to defend me because you thought I was too pathetic to realize it myself?”

“What? No—Annabeth, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” she snapped, her chest burning. “The Stolls flirt with everyone. Everyone. But not me, apparently, unless it’s some kind of prank. And you—you act like you’re swooping in to save me from embarrassment. Like I’m too stupid to know the difference.”

Percy’s eyes widened, panic flickering in the blue. “That’s not what I meant.”

But she was already spiraling, words tumbling out faster than she could stop them. “Do you even know what it feels like? To watch you laugh with Rachel like she’s the only person who’s ever made you smile, and then—then—have you stand here and basically tell me no one could possibly like me unless it’s a joke?”

Percy’s mouth opened, closed. He looked stricken, like she’d struck him across the face.

Annabeth pressed on, because once the floodgate opened, she couldn’t shut it. “Sometimes I wonder, Percy. I really wonder. Do you even—” Her voice cracked, and she forced it steady. “Do you even like girls like me?”

He blinked, stunned. “What are you talking about? Girls like you—?”

“You don’t get it,” she said, words trembling. She dug her nails into her palms to keep them from shaking. “You never will. You don’t know what it’s like to be the girl people pass over. The one they never flirt with, never look at, because she doesn’t fit what they think is beautiful. You sit there with Rachel—white skin, red curls, the kind of pretty that people write poems about—and I sit there wondering if you could ever look at me like that. A Black girl with braids. If that’s even in your range.”

Percy staggered back a step, like the ground had tilted under him. “Annabeth—no. That’s not—it’s not like that. I never—”

Her voice rose, sharp and unrelenting. “Then what is it, Percy? Because all I see is you laughing with her, turning toward her, choosing her. And then when someone dares to look at me for a second, you act like it’s an insult. Like it’s not real. Like it can’t be real.”

The silence after her words was deafening. The only sound was the lake lapping gently at the shore, steady and merciless.

Percy stared at her, chest heaving, curls falling into his eyes. His mouth worked uselessly before sound finally scraped out. “You think I don’t like you because you’re—because you’re Black?”

Annabeth flinched, but she didn’t look away. “Don’t you?”

He shook his head violently, curls whipping. “No. Gods, Annabeth, no. That’s not—I never thought that. Not once. I wasn’t jealous because I thought they were messing with you. I was jealous because they weren’t.”

The words hit her so hard she actually froze.

Percy’s face burned red as he realized what he’d said, but he didn’t stop. “Because they were getting to sit there and make you laugh and—and I couldn’t stand it. Not because you’re not good enough, but because they’re not. Because they don’t know you. Not like I do.”

Annabeth’s throat tightened painfully. For a second, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to grab onto his words and hold them like rope, let them pull her out of the sinking sand of her insecurities.

But fear was louder. Fear always was.

She shook her head, taking a step back. “You don’t get to say that after spending all summer with her. After making me feel like—like I’m invisible.”

Percy’s voice cracked. “You’re not invisible to me.”

“Then why does it feel like it?”

Her words cracked between them like lightning. Percy flinched, hands twitching uselessly at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know how.

Annabeth couldn’t bear it anymore. The rawness of his expression, the way her heart leapt against her will. She turned, braids swinging over her shoulders, and started back toward camp.

“Annabeth—”

She didn’t stop.

Her chest ached with every step, but she kept walking, because if she stayed another second, she might crumble. And Annabeth Chase didn’t crumble.

Not where anyone could see.

———

Percy

Annabeth’s footsteps faded down the path, swallowed by the trees, but Percy stayed rooted by the lake.

The night pressed in heavy, all shadows and silence except for the water lapping at the shore. He could still see her face in his head—sharp, guarded, brown eyes burning with something he didn’t know how to answer. He could still hear her voice too, rough around the edges, cutting him open with every word.

Do you even like girls like me?

It looped over and over, like a curse he couldn’t shake.

Percy dragged his hands down his face, groaning into the dark. None of it made sense. Why would Annabeth ever think that? Why would she stand there and ask him something so—so impossible? He didn’t care about her being Black. He didn’t care about Rachel being white. That had never even crossed his mind. Not once.

He paced along the bank, sneakers crunching gravel, his chest tight.

What had she seen in him that made her believe otherwise?

He thought of her standing there, shoulders tight, braids brushing her collarbone, voice sharp enough to cut. She had looked at him like he was the enemy. Like he was holding a knife without even realizing it. And that was the part that gutted him—because Annabeth didn’t make mistakes. If she thought he’d hurt her, then somewhere along the line, he must have.

Percy sank down onto the grass, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the moonlit ripples across the lake.

He replayed it in his head. Her saying he always turned to Rachel. Her saying he probably didn’t even look at her.

Her saying: You don’t get it. You never will.

And then, slowly, something else surfaced. A memory he hadn’t thought about in years, dredged up from the murk of his childhood.

He was eight years old, sprawled on the couch, watching TV because Gabe was in a rare good mood and hadn’t kicked him off yet. The sitcom he liked had come back for a new season, but one of the main characters looked different now—same role, new actress. She was Black, with a smile that lit up her whole face, and Percy thought she was great. Maybe even better than the last girl.

But Gabe didn’t.

“Gods, what is this crap?” Gabe muttered, sucking on a beer bottle. “They ruined the show. Nobody wants to see that. She’s not even pretty.”

Percy frowned. “I think she’s pretty.”

Gabe snorted, shoving Percy’s head with one meaty hand. “Shows what you know, punk. They should’ve stuck with the real one. Not this knockoff.”

And then he’d said more. Vulgar things Percy hadn’t fully understood at the time, words that made Sally go stiff in the kitchen and Percy’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Words that, looking back now, Percy knew had been dripping with racism, thick and ugly as oil.

But Percy had never cared about that. He’d just liked the actress. He remembered thinking she smiled like his mom did—warm, bright, like she saw you even through the screen. He hadn’t cared what Gabe thought. He hadn’t cared that her skin was darker than the old actress’s.

But Annabeth…

Annabeth must’ve heard things like that all the time.

The realization hit him so hard he actually choked on air.

She wasn’t just pulling that fear out of nowhere. She’d lived it. Heard it. Probably a thousand little moments over her life piling up until even him sitting next to Rachel must’ve felt like proof.

And gods—she thought he was like Gabe.

Percy’s stomach heaved. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, fighting off the sick twist in his gut.

He’d spent his whole life hating Gabe, despising the man for every cruel word, every bruise, every sneer. And now Annabeth thought he saw her through the same lens? That he could look at her—the bravest, smartest, most infuriating, beautiful girl he’d ever met—and reduce her to not being Rachel, not being white?

It was unthinkable.

But she believed it.

And that was somehow worse than Gabe himself—because if she believed it, it meant he hadn’t shown her otherwise. Not enough.

Percy fell back onto the grass, staring up at the stars until they blurred. His chest ached.

How was he supposed to fix this? What words could possibly pull that weight off her shoulders? Saying I like you wouldn’t cover it. Because it wasn’t just about liking her—it was about her knowing he saw her. All of her. Not in comparison, not in competition. Just her.

But every time he tried to open his mouth around her, he screwed it up. He made her think he was choosing Rachel. He made her think she was invisible.

He thought of the way Annabeth had looked tonight when the Stolls leaned in too close—annoyed, sure, but also surprised. Like she couldn’t quite believe anyone would bother. And then he thought of how she’d looked when she asked him if he even liked girls like her. The hurt in her eyes had been sharper than any blade.

Percy sat up again, fists buried in the grass. He wanted to punch something. Break something. Mostly himself.

He hated that she doubted it. Hated that she could even question, for a second, whether he found her beautiful. Because she was. Gods, she was. She had always been—since the first day he saw her in that camp t-shirt, braids pulled back from her face, eyes sharper than knives. She’d been terrifying and stunning all at once, and he’d never stopped being stunned.

But how was he supposed to make her believe that when the whole world had been telling her otherwise since before he even met her?

Percy dragged a hand through his curls, staring helplessly at the water.

For once, he didn’t have an answer.

All he knew was that he couldn’t stand seeing her look at him like that again. Like he was part of the problem. Like he didn’t see her.

He did. He always had.

And maybe—just maybe—it was time he stopped being such a coward and showed her.

The lake stayed quiet, reflecting the moon in perfect stillness, but Percy’s chest was anything but calm. He didn’t move for a long time, caught between guilt and determination, the memory of Gabe’s sneer still ringing in his ears.

But one thought steadied him, sharp as a blade.

He wasn’t Gabe.

And Annabeth needed to know that.

———

Percy was up before the sun.

That never happened. Usually, the only thing that dragged him out of bed before breakfast was a monster invasion, or Chiron looming over him with disappointment. But this morning, Percy was already outside, leaning against the porch railing of Cabin Six, watching the door like it might spit out fire at any second.

Annabeth always got up early. Training, studying, gods knew what else. If she was anything, she was predictable. Percy counted on that.

Still, when the door finally opened and Annabeth stepped out—braids freshly done from Aphrodite cabin, camp shirt tucked into her waistband, eyes still a little heavy from sleep—his stomach did something stupid. Like a dolphin had just backflipped in there.

She noticed him instantly. Froze mid-step, one brow arching. “Jackson. Why are you lurking outside my cabin like a stalker?”

Percy pushed off the railing, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide how clammy they’d suddenly gotten. “I was waiting for you.”

“Obviously,” she said, dry as the desert. She adjusted her ponytail, side-eyeing him like he was two seconds away from making her late. “You’re in the way.”

“Walk with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because,” Percy said, forcing himself to meet her gaze, “I need to show you something.”

She crossed her arms. “If this is some elaborate plan to prank me, I swear on the Styx—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, maybe a little too fast. “I promise. Just… trust me, Wise Girl.”

That last part did something—he could see it in the flicker of her expression. Annabeth’s lips pressed together, suspicion warring with something softer, before she finally sighed. “You’re wasting my training time.”

“I’ll make it worth it.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she followed.

⸻

The lake was empty at this hour, the surface smooth as glass, the air cool and damp. Percy led them down to the edge, kicking off his sneakers so his toes touched the water. Instantly, calm washed over him, the kind only the lake could give.

Annabeth hung back a little, arms folded, posture defensive. Like she wasn’t sure if this was going to end in another fight.

Percy turned toward her, heart pounding. This was it. No backing out.

“Look,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “About last night—”

Her face tightened. “Percy—”

“No, let me talk.” The words tumbled out fast, like water bursting through a dam. “I screwed up. Not the part where I yelled at the Stolls—they deserved that—but the part where I made you think… whatever you think I think.”

She frowned, clearly already annoyed. “You’re not making sense.”

“Story of my life,” Percy muttered. He dragged in a breath. “What I’m trying to say is… you’re wrong.”

Annabeth’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Not about you,” he added quickly, hands up in surrender. “About me. About what I see. About what you think I don’t see.”

She blinked, cautious now. “…Percy.”

He stepped closer, feeling steadier with every word. “You asked me if I even liked girls like you. And I don’t know where the Hades that came from, but gods, Annabeth—of course I do. Do you think I’ve been following you into certain death, arguing with you every chance I get, because I think you’re just… okay?”

Annabeth’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

Percy laughed, nervous but real. “You drive me insane. You’re bossy, and stubborn, and you always think you’re right—which, annoyingly, you usually are. And I… I can’t stop looking at you.”

Her throat worked, like she was swallowing down a dozen things at once.

“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Percy pressed on. “The bravest too. You scare the crap out of me, honestly. But also—you’re beautiful. Like, ridiculously beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes other people look like background noise. And if you don’t see that…” He shook his head, frustrated. “Then I haven’t been doing my job right.”

Annabeth’s lips parted again, but still—silence.

Which terrified Percy. So, naturally, he filled it.

“And just so we’re clear,” he added, trying for a smirk that came out shakier than intended, “the Stolls were flirting with you. Because apparently, even they aren’t dumb enough to miss what’s right in front of them.”

That pulled a startled laugh from her, sharp and disbelieving. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m ridiculous for you.” He grinned, and this time it landed, because her cheeks flushed despite the roll of her eyes.

Annabeth shook her head, staring out at the water like she needed the lake to think for her. Finally, she spoke, voice lower than before. “Last night… I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I just—” She hesitated. “It’s hard. Sometimes. Feeling like maybe you’re not what people want.”

Percy’s chest clenched.

“Annabeth,” he said, stepping close enough that his reflection blurred into hers on the water. “You are exactly what I want. No conditions. No comparisons. Just you.”

Her gaze snapped to his, sharp and searching. “You don’t get to say that unless you mean it.”

Percy met her stare, steady as the tide. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

For a long moment, it was just them. The lake, the morning air, the space between them buzzing like static.

Then, slowly, Annabeth’s arms loosened. Her shoulders eased.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Percy breathed, relief breaking over him like a wave. “But I’m your idiot.”

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, but when Percy reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. Her fingers twined with his, warm and sure, and Percy felt the whole world steady beneath his feet.

They stood there by the lake, the sun finally cresting the trees, painting the water gold. For once, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Because this time, Annabeth knew.

———