Work Text:
The Aphrodite cabin glowed in the late afternoon like a jewel box cracked open by the sun.
Light spilled through sheer pink curtains, softening everything it touched—lace, silk pillows, strings of glass beads that clicked faintly whenever the breeze drifted in through the open windows.
The air smelled like roses and citrus and something warmer beneath it, like honey. Laughter floated lazily from one corner of the cabin, but it wasn’t the shrill, careless kind people expected from the love goddess’s children. It was low, knowing. Calculated.
This was not shallow gossip.
This was strategy.
Silena Beauregard stood near the largest window, one hand idly twisting a ribbon between her fingers. Several other Aphrodite campers clustered nearby, leaning against the windowsill or perching on the edges of beds, all of them facing outward toward the canoe lake. Their reflections shimmered faintly in the glass, but none of them were looking at themselves.
They were watching Percy Jackson.
He stood near the water’s edge, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way it rarely was anymore. Rachel Elizabeth Dare sat on a rock beside him, her feet dangling inches above the lake, her bright red hair catching the sun like a warning flare. Percy laughed at something she said—an unguarded, full laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his whole body tilt forward as if he couldn’t quite contain it.
The sound carried.
Across the clearing, a few yards away, Annabeth Chase sharpened a dagger.
The blade scraped rhythmically against the whetstone, sharp and precise and just a little too forceful. Her shoulders were squared, jaw set, dark brows drawn together in concentration that felt… exaggerated. Her bohemian braids were pulled back from her face, beads woven into them clicking softly when she moved. She didn’t look up. Not once.
Silena exhaled slowly, then let herself fall backward onto one of the beds with theatrical despair.
“Oh gods,” she muttered, throwing an arm over her eyes. “He’s doing it again.”
The words landed heavy in the cabin.
One of the younger Aphrodite campers—Dove, with her pale pink streaked hair—tilted her head. “Doing what again?”
Silena sat back up, eyes flashing. “Existing in the exact same emotional pattern for the third time and somehow not realizing it.”
A ripple of murmurs moved through the room. A few campers glanced back out the window, as if hoping Percy might suddenly develop self-awareness under their collective scrutiny.
He did not.
Instead, he gestured animatedly as Rachel said something else, his hands moving the way they always did when he was relaxed—open, expressive, utterly unguarded.
Another camper, Lacy, crossed her arms. “I don’t get how he doesn’t see it.”
“That’s because you’re not emotionally constipated,” Silena replied sweetly.
A snort of laughter escaped someone near the vanity.
Silena’s gaze softened as she looked back out the window, this time not at Percy, but at Annabeth. The girl still hadn’t moved. The dagger sang against stone, again and again.
“Most of us have known her since she was seven,” Silena said quietly.
The tone shift was immediate. Conversations stilled. Even the beads stopped clicking.
“We watched her come here with nothing but a Yankees cap and a chip on her shoulder,” Lacy said, voice lower now.
Silena nodded. The memories came easily—too easily.
Annabeth standing awkwardly at the edge of the Aphrodite cabin doorway, small and overwhelmed, dark eyes too sharp for her face. She hadn’t known how to braid her own hair then. She’d tried, badly, fingers fumbling, frustration mounting until she’d nearly cried. It had been one of the Aphrodite girls—Silena herself, if she remembered right—who’d sat her down and gently worked through the tangles, showing her how to separate the strands, how to weave patience into something beautiful.
“She hated asking for help,” Silena murmured. “Still does.”
“But she trusted us,” someone else said. “Even back then.”
They’d watched her grow up in pieces—between quests, between battles, between moments when the world nearly swallowed her whole. They’d watched her learn to smile again. To argue. To stand her ground. Brilliant, guarded, loyal to a fault.
And then Percy Jackson had arrived.
“He changed everything,” Lacy said, not accusing. Just stating fact.
Silena’s lips curved faintly. “Yeah. He did.”
Outside, Percy kicked a pebble into the lake. It skipped twice before sinking. Rachel applauded like it was a magic trick.
“And now here we are,” Dove said, gesturing vaguely toward the window. “Again.”
Silena’s expression hardened. “Let’s list it, shall we?”
She counted on her fingers. “Calypso.”
Several heads nodded.
“Girl stranded on an island. Obviously crushing on him. Annabeth left behind pretending she doesn’t care while staring at the horizon like it might swallow her whole. She was planning his stupid funeral while he had his little vacation.”
Another finger. “Rachel.”
They all looked back out the window.
“Brilliant,” Lacy said dryly. “Red hair. Mortal. Safe.”
“And Percy always stumbles into it,” Dove added. “He doesn’t go looking. It just… happens.”
“And Annabeth always ends up confused,” Silena finished. “Jealous. Hurt.”
“And silent,” someone else said.
That, more than anything, made Silena’s jaw tighten.
“Here’s the thing,” she said slowly. “Percy isn’t cruel.”
“No,” Lacy agreed. “If he were, this would be easier.”
“He’s oblivious,” Silena continued. “Painfully so.”
Outside, Percy leaned back on his hands, gazing out at the water. For a moment—just a moment—his eyes flicked toward Annabeth. The look on his face softened, something quiet and reverent passing over his expression before he caught himself and looked away.
Silena saw it.
They all did.
“That,” Silena said, pointing sharply, “is not how you look at a friend.”
“No,” Dove whispered. “That’s—”
“Love,” Silena said. “Whether he knows it or not.”
Silence fell again, heavier now.
“He clings to Rachel because she’s easy,” Lacy said. “Because she represents a life where monsters don’t crawl out of the ground and the world doesn’t end every summer.”
“Normalcy,” Silena agreed. “Peace.”
“And Annabeth is… war,” Dove said gently. “Strategy. Sacrifice. The future.”
Silena looked at Annabeth again—at the way her shoulders were drawn tight, at the way her mouth was pressed into a thin line.
“She’d choose him anyway,” Silena said softly. “She always does.”
That was the problem.
Silena straightened, resolve settling into her bones like armor. “I’m tired of watching her get so hurt over him.”
Lacy’s eyes gleamed. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“If Percy Jackson won’t figure out his feelings on his own,” Silena said, voice sweet as poison, “then we’ll help.”
A few smiles spread. Not cruel ones. Knowing ones.
“We’re not hurting Annabeth,” Dove said firmly.
“Never,” Silena agreed.
“And we’re not humiliating Percy,” Lacy added, then paused. “Intentionally.”
Silena smirked. “Though if that happens, I won’t lose sleep.”
Outside, Percy laughed again.
Inside, the Aphrodite cabin began to plan.
They leaned closer, voices dropping, ideas weaving together like strands of a braid—careful, deliberate, unbreakable.
They would flip the script.
And Percy Jackson would finally feel everything Annabeth Chase had been carrying alone.
———
Connor Stoll had always believed that trouble announced itself.
Usually with shouting. Or explosions. Or Chiron yelling his name from across camp in that deeply disappointed way that suggested paperwork was about to happen.
So when Silena Beauregard appeared beside him without a sound, Connor knew immediately that whatever she wanted was worse than all three.
He was leaning against the back wall of the camp store, half in shadow, half pretending not to be cataloging which items could be stolen without being immediately noticed. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, warm and golden, dust motes drifting lazily through the air. Somewhere nearby, strawberry plants rustled as campers moved through the fields, laughter carrying on the breeze.
Connor glanced sideways.
Silena smiled.
Not her gentle, diplomatic smile. Not her “peace between cabins” smile.
This was the smile she wore right before emotional devastation.
He straightened slowly. “If this is about stealing perfume again,” he said carefully, “I swear on my mother’s stolen car that it was Travis’s idea.”
Silena blinked. “Connor.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it,” he added quickly. “But—”
“Connor,” she repeated, still smiling. “Relax. This has nothing to do with perfume.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That somehow makes me more nervous.”
She gestured with her chin toward the side of the building, where the shadows were deeper and the sounds of camp were muffled. “Walk with me.”
Connor hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure. Worst-case scenario, I fake my own death.”
They moved a few steps away, far enough that anyone passing wouldn’t overhear them but close enough that Connor could bolt if necessary. He leaned back against a crate of inventory supplies, arms crossed loosely, posture casual in a way that suggested he was listening very closely.
Silena clasped her hands in front of her, all innocence.
“We need a favor,” she said.
Connor snorted. “You people never ask for favors. You ask for crimes.”
“This one’s not a crime,” Silena said lightly.
“Then I’m definitely suspicious.”
She met his gaze squarely. “We need you to flirt with Annabeth Chase.”
Connor stared at her.
Once.
Twice.
Then he laughed.
A full, incredulous bark that echoed faintly off the camp store wall. “I’m sorry—what?”
Silena didn’t laugh. She didn’t even look offended. She simply waited.
Connor’s laughter tapered off as he realized she was serious.
“You want me,” he said slowly, pointing at himself, “to flirt with Annie?”
“Casually,” Silena said.
“Believably,” she added.
“And,” Silena finished, “preferably when Percy Jackson is around.”
Connor blinked.
His brain visibly rebooted.
“That is,” he said finally, “not where I thought this conversation was going.”
“Most good plans aren’t,” Silena replied pleasantly.
Connor pushed off the crate and began pacing a few steps, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay. Let me just—” He turned back to her. “Why?”
Silena didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she followed his gaze past the trees, toward the open stretch of camp where the canoe lake shimmered in the distance.
Percy Jackson was still there.
Connor followed her look and hummed softly. “Ah.”
Silena glanced back at him. “You see it.”
“I’m not blind,” Connor said. “Just selectively reckless.”
He leaned back again, arms crossing, expression more thoughtful now. “Let me guess. Percy’s doing his whole ‘I don’t know I’m in love yet’ routine.”
Silena’s smile sharpened. “Among other things.”
Connor exhaled. “Look, I like Annabeth. Everyone likes Annabeth. But you’re asking me to mess with a god’s kid’s feelings.”
“We’re not,” Silena said immediately. “And neither are you.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Annabeth knows you. There’s history. You’ve trained together, joked together, survived things together. This won’t come out of nowhere.”
Connor considered that. It was true. He and Annabeth had always existed in the same orbit—banter, shared missions, mutual respect. Flirting wouldn’t be… alien.
“Nothing forced,” Silena continued. “Nothing gross. Nothing that would make her uncomfortable.”
“And nothing that would actually mean anything,” Connor said slowly.
“Exactly.”
Connor tilted his head. “So this is about Percy.”
Silena met his eyes without flinching. “This is about Percy finally understanding what he’s been putting her through.”
Connor was quiet for a moment.
Then he let out a low whistle. “Wow. You Aphrodite kids really are terrifying.”
Silena beamed. “Thank you.”
Connor glanced back toward the lake again. “He really is clueless, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Silena said. “And he’s hurting her without realizing it.”
Connor grimaced. “Okay. That part I don’t love.”
“We don’t either.”
Silena reached into the small purse slung over her shoulder and produced a folded stack of bills.
Connor’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that—”
“Cash,” Silena said. “Yours.”
He didn’t reach for it yet. “I’m listening.”
“There may also be favors,” she added casually. “Alibis. Disguises. Social cover. You know—Aphrodite things.”
Connor’s mouth twitched. “You’re saying I could pull off any prank I want for the rest of the summer and no one would question it because ‘love made me do it.’”
“Precisely.”
Connor considered this very carefully.
Then he grinned.
“Oh, I am so in.”
Silena handed him the money. He accepted it with a reverent nod, tucking it into his pocket like a sacred offering.
“But,” he said, holding up a finger, “I have one condition.”
Silena inclined her head. “Name it.”
“If Annabeth ever looks genuinely uncomfortable,” Connor said seriously, “I stop. Immediately. No questions. No ‘just one more push.’”
Silena’s expression softened. “Agreed.”
Connor nodded, satisfied. “Good. Because I’m not actually evil.”
“Debatable,” Silena said sweetly.
They clasped hands—her grip firm, his warm and solid. The deal sealed.
Connor stepped back, already looking energized, mischief lighting his features. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Percy Jackson is going to lose his mind.”
Silena smiled like a queen watching dominoes line up perfectly.
Connor turned to leave, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Any particular instructions?”
Silena considered. “Start small. Let it simmer.”
Connor’s grin widened. “Oh, I love a slow burn.”
As he walked away toward the Hermes cabin, he muttered to himself, barely audible over the rustling leaves:
“Percy Jackson won’t know what hit him.”
———
The shift was subtle at first.
That, perhaps, was the Aphrodite cabin’s greatest strength. They didn’t shove. They nudged. They didn’t strike matches—they let sparks drift until something caught on its own.
Connor Stoll understood this instinctively.
The first morning he slid onto the Athena table at breakfast, no one said a word.
Annabeth was mid-sentence, explaining something animatedly to Malcolm about Labyrinth cartography, hands moving as she spoke, brows knit in thought. She barely noticed Connor at first—just registered him as familiar presence, the way one did with campmates who’d been around long enough to feel like furniture.
Connor leaned back on his hands, legs stretched casually beneath the table. “You’re saying the passages realign based on intent, not geography?”
Annabeth blinked, then turned fully toward him. “Yes—exactly. Everyone assumes it’s spatial, but Daedalus was too smart for that.”
Connor grinned. “See, this is why I never trust mazes.”
Malcolm snorted. Annabeth laughed—soft, surprised, genuine.
Across the pavilion, Percy Jackson paused mid-bite.
It wasn’t the laughter itself that caught his attention. Annabeth laughed all the time. Or—well. She used to. Lately it came in shorter bursts, quieter, like something she rationed.
This laugh rang.
Percy frowned faintly, then shook his head and turned back to Rachel, who was poking at her cereal with mild disdain.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Percy said automatically.
Which was true, in the sense that nothing had happened yet.
Connor stayed for the rest of breakfast. He technically wasn’t supposed to—cabins sat together, lines were drawn, rules existed—but Percy had watched Rachel drift between tables for weeks now, perched on benches that weren’t hers, welcomed without comment. If she could do it, Connor could too.
No one stopped him.
Annabeth didn’t seem to think twice about it. If anything, she looked… lighter. Less guarded. She ate without scanning the pavilion every few seconds, without glancing toward Percy’s table and then pointedly away.
Connor listened. Asked questions. Let her finish her thoughts.
When breakfast ended, he stood with her, fell naturally into step as they headed toward the armory.
“You’re headed to weapons training, right?” he asked.
Annabeth nodded. “Yeah. Chiron wants us rotating partners today.”
“Perfect,” Connor said cheerfully. “I was hoping to avoid Travis.”
She smirked. “Smart.”
They walked side by side down the path, sunlight filtering through the trees, their shadows stretching long across the dirt. Connor gestured as she talked, occasionally interjecting with a joke or a question, never talking over her. Never crowding her.
It felt… easy.
Annabeth noticed that.
She didn’t question it. She didn’t analyze it. She simply accepted it, the way she accepted most things at camp—situational, temporary, useful.
And she laughed again when Connor nearly tripped over a tree root.
Percy watched them go.
Something tugged uncomfortably at his chest.
He shifted his weight, scowling faintly at the lake as if it had personally offended him. Then he exhaled, long and slow, and forced the feeling down.
You’re being weird, he told himself. They’re friends.
The thought settled. Mostly.
The next few days unfolded like that.
Connor appeared where Annabeth was—not constantly, not conspicuously, just enough to be noticed if someone were paying attention. He sat beside her during strategy briefings, leaned over her shoulder to look at maps, offered commentary during sparring matches that made her roll her eyes and smile despite herself.
He never touched her. Never crossed a line.
But he stayed close.
Annabeth found herself relaxing into it without realizing she’d been tense to begin with. She spoke more freely, debated more fiercely. She corrected Connor when he was wrong, and he listened—actually listened—instead of arguing for the sake of it.
It felt good.
That was the part she didn’t quite know what to do with.
Percy noticed in flashes.
Annabeth laughing during sword practice when Connor made an exaggerated show of surrender.
Annabeth sitting on the grass with Connor after drills, comparing bruises like badges of honor.
Annabeth walking back from the forge with Connor’s jacket draped loosely over her shoulders because she’d forgotten hers and the air had turned cool.
Each moment passed quickly, easy to dismiss.
It’s nothing, Percy told himself.
But the flicker in his chest kept returning—hot and sharp and gone before he could grab it.
The Aphrodite campers noticed everything.
They watched from cabin porches and shaded paths, exchanging glances, subtle nods. Silena never interfered. She never whispered instructions. Connor didn’t need them.
He knew exactly when to lean in, when to pull back.
The escalation came quietly.
It happened during lunch three days in.
Connor slid onto the Athena bench again, uninvited and unapologetic, stealing an apple from the center of the table as if he belonged there.
Annabeth raised a brow. “You know, if you keep doing that, they’re going to start charging you.”
He took a bite. “Worth it.”
She snorted.
Percy, seated two tables away, stiffened.
Connor nodded toward the parchment spread out in front of Annabeth. “You figure that out yet?”
“I think so,” she said, tapping a symbol. “The pattern repeats every seventh turn, not every fifth like we thought.”
Connor whistled. “See? This is why Percy would be dead without you.”
The words were tossed off casually. Light. Almost joking.
Percy’s grip tightened on his cup.
He looked up sharply, eyes locking on Connor’s back.
Rachel followed his gaze. “What?”
“Nothing,” Percy said again, too quickly.
Connor went on, oblivious—or pretending to be. “I mean it. You ever notice how Percy just… wings it? You’re the reason he survives half the stuff he does.”
Annabeth’s smile softened, something warm settling behind her eyes. “He’s not that bad.”
“He is,” Connor insisted cheerfully. “But that’s his charm.”
A few campers laughed.
Percy didn’t.
His jaw clenched, muscles jumping beneath the skin. The feeling in his chest burned brighter now—no longer a flicker, but a low, persistent ache.
Why does that bother me? he wondered distantly.
Rachel nudged his knee with hers. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Percy said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
She studied him for a moment, unconvinced, but let it go.
Across the pavilion, Annabeth folded up her parchment, cheeks faintly warm. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone openly credited her like that—without tension, without expectation. Just acknowledgment.
She felt… seen.
That night at the campfire, Connor sat beside her again, knees brushing hers as they shared a bag of marshmallows.
“You ever think about what you’ll do after all this?” he asked quietly, staring into the flames.
Annabeth shrugged. “Survive, hopefully.”
Connor smiled at her profile. “You’re going to change the world someday, you know.”
She huffed. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I mean it,” he said lightly. “You see things no one else does.”
The words settled gently, like a blanket.
Percy watched from across the fire, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides.
He told himself he was imagining things.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
But when Rachel leaned over and whispered something in his ear, he barely heard her.
Because all he could see was Annabeth Chase, firelight dancing in her dark eyes, smiling at someone else—and looking, for the first time in days, genuinely happy.
———
By the fourth day, no one could pretend it was accidental anymore.
The training arena rang with the sound of clashing bronze and shouted commands, dust rising in clouds beneath stomping boots. Sweat slicked skin, the summer heat pressing down like a challenge. Camp Half-Blood was on edge—everyone felt the war coming, the Labyrinth tightening its grip—but for Percy Jackson, the tension had narrowed to something sharper, more personal.
Connor Stoll handed Annabeth a waterskin the moment she stepped off the sparring mat.
“Drink,” he said easily. “You’re going to overheat.”
Annabeth took it without thinking, tipping it back gratefully. “Thanks.”
She didn’t notice Percy freeze mid-swing across the arena.
The knot in his stomach twisted hard enough to make him hiss under his breath. He adjusted his grip on Riptide, forced his attention back to the camper in front of him—some Ares kid who had already lost twice and was glaring like this was personal.
“Again,” Percy said too sharply.
They charged.
Percy fought harder than necessary. Faster. Angrier. Every strike landed with too much force, every parry snapped back like he was punishing the air itself. When he disarmed his opponent, the sword skidded across the dirt with a metallic screech that made several campers wince.
Chiron raised a brow from the sidelines.
Percy didn’t notice.
His eyes had already found Annabeth again.
She stood just beyond the ring, towel slung over her shoulders, cheeks flushed from exertion. Connor leaned against the fence beside her, saying something that made her snort softly, eyes bright. He reached out—not hurried, not bold—and adjusted the strap of her armor where it had twisted.
The touch was brief. Thoughtless.
Percy’s pulse roared in his ears.
You don’t get to be mad, he told himself fiercely. You don’t get to—
“Percy!”
Clarisse’s voice cut through the haze. “Focus!”
He barely heard her.
When the session ended, Percy stalked away without waiting for dismissal, jaw tight, shoulders coiled like a drawn bow. He didn’t know what was wrong with him—only that the sight of Connor Stoll anywhere near Annabeth made something ugly and volatile curl in his chest.
Behind him, the Aphrodite campers exchanged looks.
Silena’s lips curved, slow and satisfied.
The campfire that night crackled loudly, flames licking high into the darkening sky. Campers gathered in loose circles, laughter and music threading through the warm air. Someone strummed a guitar. Someone else tried to sing and failed spectacularly.
Percy sat stiffly on a log, Rachel beside him, her knee brushing his.
“You’re quiet,” she observed, glancing at him sideways.
“Tired,” Percy said.
It was becoming his favorite lie.
Across the fire, Annabeth sat with Connor again. Not pressed close—but close enough. They passed a bag of marshmallows back and forth, whispering commentary about the singing. Annabeth laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand.
Percy stared.
He told himself—again—that he had no right to feel this way. He wasn’t Annabeth’s keeper. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was barely even sure what he was to her anymore.
Rachel leaned closer. “Did I say something wrong earlier?”
Percy blinked. “What? No. Of course not.”
She studied him, frowning slightly. “Then what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he repeated, forcing a smile that felt brittle.
Rachel nodded slowly, but her gaze flicked past him, following his line of sight. She saw Connor. Saw Annabeth. Something unreadable crossed her expression.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Percy’s stomach dropped.
He hated that she noticed.
The moment—the one the Aphrodite cabin would later replay with near-religious reverence—came during the strategy meeting the following afternoon.
Maps covered the table, weighed down with daggers and stones. The air was thick with concentration, voices low and serious as plans were debated and revised.
Annabeth stood at the head of the table, explaining a possible route through the Labyrinth. Connor leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, listening.
When she paused, he spoke up. “What if the passage shifts while we’re inside?”
Annabeth considered it. “Then we anchor the path using markers keyed to our movement patterns.”
Connor nodded, impressed. “Smart.”
As she turned to adjust one of the markers, one of her braids slipped loose, brushing her shoulder. Connor reached out automatically, catching it between his fingers and tucking it back behind her ear.
His thumb brushed her arm.
Completely innocent.
Percy saw red.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.
The room went dead silent.
Connor froze, hand dropping instantly. Annabeth turned, eyes wide with shock.
“Excuse me?” she said.
Percy took a step forward, anger spilling out before he could stop it. “You don’t need to—” He gestured vaguely. “That.”
Connor raised his hands. “Whoa. Relax, man. I was just—”
“Just what?” Percy demanded. “Getting handsy?”
Annabeth’s confusion sharpened into irritation. “Percy. What is your problem?”
The words hit harder than any blow.
Percy opened his mouth, then closed it again. The room seemed too small, too hot. Everyone was watching now—Clarisse, Chiron, the Aphrodite campers perched casually near the doorway, eyes alight.
“I—” Percy faltered. “Nothing.”
“That’s not an answer,” Annabeth shot back. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes blazing. “You’ve been weird for days. Snapping at everyone. And now you’re yelling at Connor for—what? Helping me?”
Connor shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, if this is an issue, I can—”
“No,” Annabeth said sharply, not taking her eyes off Percy. “You’re not the problem.”
Percy flinched.
“Meeting adjourned,” Chiron said carefully, sensing the brewing storm. “We’ll reconvene later.”
Campers filed out in awkward silence. Connor lingered just long enough to give Annabeth an apologetic look before retreating.
Percy stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding.
Annabeth shook her head. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, and walked away.
The Aphrodite campers followed at a distance, exchanging triumphant looks.
That night, Percy couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling, every moment replaying on a relentless loop. Connor’s hand on Annabeth’s arm. Her laughter. The way she’d looked at him—hurt, angry, confused.
What is your problem?
The question echoed.
Slowly, painfully, the answer began to form.
He imagined Annabeth walking away for good. Imagined her choosing someone else—someone attentive, someone who noticed her without needing a crisis to prompt it.
The thought hollowed him out.
“Oh,” Percy whispered into the dark.
The realization hit like a wave—cold, undeniable.
It wasn’t Connor.
It had never been Connor.
It was the way Annabeth mattered to him. The way she always had. The way he’d taken her presence for granted, assuming she’d always be there while he chased the illusion of normal.
His chest tightened.
I’m in love with her.
The words settled, terrifying and absolute.
Percy squeezed his eyes shut, heart racing.
And for the first time, he understood exactly what he stood to lose.
———
Percy found her by the lake.
He didn’t mean to. Not at first. He’d been walking—wandering, really—letting his feet carry him anywhere but back to the cabin where his thoughts were too loud and the ceiling too close. The night air was cool against his skin, the stars sharp and bright overhead. The canoe lake lay still, moonlight stretching across its surface like a path he didn’t quite dare to follow.
Annabeth sat on the dock, legs dangling over the edge, boots resting against the wood. She had her arms wrapped around herself, posture tight in a way Percy knew too well. She was staring out at the water, not touching it, not moving—like she was bracing against something unseen.
Percy stopped short.
For a moment, he considered turning around. Letting her have space. Letting this—whatever this was—cool off.
Then he remembered Connor’s hand on her arm.
Her braid between Connor’s fingers.
The way she’d looked at Percy in the strategy room—hurt and furious and done.
His chest tightened.
“Since when do you let Connor touch all over you?”
The words came out harsher than he intended, sharp enough to slice the quiet clean in half.
Annabeth stiffened.
She didn’t turn around right away. When she did, her eyes flashed in the moonlight, anger flaring fast and bright.
“Excuse me?” she said.
Percy took a step closer, fists clenched at his sides. “You know exactly what I mean. He’s always right there—leaning in, touching your arm, playing with your hair like—like he has some kind of right to you.”
Annabeth laughed once, short and incredulous. “Oh. That’s your problem?”
Percy faltered. “What?”
She stood abruptly, boots thudding against the dock as she turned fully to face him. “You don’t get to say that. Not you.”
“Why not?” Percy shot back. “I see him—”
“You see him?” Annabeth cut in. “Funny. Because you’ve been seeing Rachel for weeks.”
The name hit like a punch.
Percy’s jaw tightened. “That’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Annabeth demanded. “She sits with you at meals. Walks with you. Laughs with you. And you let her. You don’t snap at her. You don’t glare at her like she’s doing something wrong just by existing near you.”
“That’s different,” Percy insisted, though the words sounded thin even to his own ears.
Annabeth crossed her arms, shoulders squared. “Tell me how.”
Percy opened his mouth. Closed it again.
She stepped closer, voice trembling now—not with fear, but with years of pent-up frustration. “Tell me how it’s different, Percy. Tell me why it’s fine when you get to have someone—normal, easy, safe—but the second someone pays attention to me, you act like it’s some kind of betrayal.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to,” Annabeth said. “You never do.”
The dock creaked softly beneath them as Percy shifted his weight, suddenly acutely aware of how close they were. How far apart they felt.
“I’ve been second so many times,” Annabeth continued, words spilling out now. “Calypso. Rachel. Every time someone else looks at you like you’re the center of their world, I’m supposed to just… step back. Pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend I don’t care.”
Percy’s chest ached.
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly.
Annabeth’s laugh this time was bitter. “That’s the problem.”
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft lap of water against the dock.
Percy dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I hate it,” he said suddenly.
Annabeth blinked. “Hate what?”
“I hate seeing him with you,” Percy said, voice rough. “I hate the way he makes you laugh. I hate that he notices things I should’ve noticed. I hate that when I think about you choosing him—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “It makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”
Annabeth’s expression wavered, anger giving way to something fragile and stunned.
Percy took another step closer. “I’m terrified of losing you.”
The words tumbled out now, unstoppable. “I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how. Somewhere between quests and fights and almost dying, you just—became everything. And I didn’t realize it because I was too busy clinging to the idea that things could be easy.”
His voice cracked. “But you’re not easy. You’re real. And I don’t want a world where you’re not in it. Not like that.”
Annabeth stared at him.
The anger drained from her face slowly, like a tide pulling back, leaving something raw and vulnerable behind. Her shoulders sagged, the fight easing out of her posture.
“Percy,” she said softly.
He braced himself for rejection. For her to tell him it was too late.
Instead, she exhaled and shook her head, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.”
His heart skipped. “You have?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. “I just didn’t think it would take Connor Stoll.”
A weak laugh escaped him. “Yeah. About that—”
She reached up, fingers brushing his wrist, grounding him. “He was never the point.”
Their eyes met, moonlight reflected in sea-green and storm-gray.
Percy hesitated. Just for a second. “Can I—?”
Annabeth didn’t let him finish.
She kissed him.
It was tentative at first, as if they were both afraid the moment might shatter if they moved too quickly. Her lips were warm, familiar in a way that made Percy’s chest ache. He responded instinctively, one hand lifting to rest at her waist, the other hovering like he wasn’t quite sure where to put it.
Then she leaned into him, certainty flooding the space between them.
Everything clicked.
The world narrowed to the feel of her fingers curling into his shirt, the quiet hitch of her breath, the way the kiss deepened—not frantic, not rushed, just right. Like something long overdue finally finding its place.
When they pulled back, foreheads resting together, Percy laughed softly. “Wow.”
Annabeth smiled. “Yeah.”
From the shadows near the trees, Silena Beauregard lowered her binoculars with a satisfied hum.
“Told you,” she murmured to the cluster of Aphrodite campers gathered behind her.
Connor Stoll leaned against a tree nearby, arms crossed, grinning as Silena pressed a wad of cash into his hand.
“Worth every drachma,” he said cheerfully.
Silena smiled, eyes soft as she looked back toward the lake. “They’ll be okay.”
The war still loomed. The Labyrinth still waited.
But for once—just once—something went right.
———