Chapter Text
He was presenting a classic literature assignment, about Macbeth. He spoke with real confidence — surprisingly (and, at the same time, not surprising at all) — he was the best student in literature. Well, that’s what happens when your stepfather is a literature teacher.
He was wearing light-wash, baggy jeans and a worn-out pair of Vans he had been using since his freshman year of high school. His simple gray shirt fit him well. Too well, unfortunately, in her opinion.
He gestured with precision, occasionally adjusting the printed page as he went through his slides. With the lights off and the projector casting its glow, he looked unfairly handsome: his eyes lighter, his smile brighter, his dimples on full display, and his blond curls carrying that perfectly messy-yet-put-together look.
Annabeth Chase had been in love with Percy Jackson since she was twelve. Since when he was just a skinny, sharp-tongued kid who drooled in his sleep during math class. There had been nothing special about him — at least, not in the eyes of the average Goode High School student.
But she knew exactly who he was. She knew it from the day he defended her against Luke, an upperclassman with a bit of a bully complex, and didn’t let the others make fun of her for being a know-it-all. Even though he himself called her “wise girl” — only he was allowed to call her that, and only with the meaning he gave it: recognition.
They weren’t friends. They had mutual friends, worked on group projects sometimes, but they were always stuck in this strange game of cat and mouse. A dynamic she didn’t know when it started — and, honestly, had no idea how to stop.
He had become the captain of the swim team and was no longer just some kid only she paid attention to. He had become someone noticeable at school. Someone popular. He had grown up, become objectively and obviously attractive, while she remained the brainy girl — Academic Decathlon, student council, and a hesitant spot on the volleyball team just to keep up with physical activity, since it was scientifically proven that exercise changed lives.
She and Percy weren’t kids anymore, and at school, they stood on opposite sides of the social spectrum. Still, Annabeth hated admitting that she liked him. Maybe more than just liked him — maybe something deeper, more annoying. She hated admitting it. But boys like Percy Jackson didn’t look at girls like her. They looked at cheerleaders, confident athletes like Rachel Dare — the girl he’d spent last year being seen with.
And yet, she couldn’t help but get nervous every single time he walked past her and smiled. Or when he waved at her during lunch, all the way from his table with his popular friends. Or when he showed up at the school volleyball tournaments, where she played libero because of her height. He always seemed to want some kind of interaction, and she always wanted to believe it meant interest, but she ended up convincing herself it was just him being nice. Percy had always been nice. To everyone.
Percy smiled at the class then — that beautiful smile where his eyes slightly squinted, the crow’s feet showed up and his dimples practically said hello — making Annabeth sigh, only to have her breath cut short when she realized the students were applauding and his presentation had ended.
The lights turned back on, making her blink at the sudden brightness. She lowered her hand from her chin and tried to hide the fact she’d been daydreaming, clapping as well.
He kept smiling as he gathered his papers, and for a second — just one — Annabeth thought he had looked directly at her. But it must have been her imagination.
“Very well done, Mr. Jackson. Impressive work,” Mr. Brunner said, standing up at the front again. “Paul must be proud.”
Percy gave a soft smile, pleased by the comment, as he went back to his seat with his papers.
Mr. Brunner finished the class by saying they’d soon get their test results from the previous week, just as the bell rang.
Annabeth’s next class was chemistry — the second class of the day she unfortunately shared with Percy. He was far too distracting, and after years of trying to ignore him, she was painfully aware of that.
She took a little longer packing her things, giving Mr. Brunner a brief wave before heading out toward the lab, where the students were probably already settling in.
The upper-floor hallway was crowded, voices overlapping with the metallic echo of lockers. Annabeth went up the stairs with her backpack slung over one shoulder, determined to focus. Chemistry required focus.
But of course, the universe didn’t cooperate.
Percy was already leaning against the lab door, talking to Grover Underwood and Rachel Dare, as if the place belonged to him. He laughed at something Rachel said, and that laugh — that damn easy laugh — was loud enough for her to hear.
Annabeth looked away before he could notice her.
Or tried to.
Because he did
And he waved.
Again.
It was a simple wave, but it was enough to make her trip over her own shoelace. She pretended to adjust her backpack, her face burning, and headed straight into the classroom.
She chose a lab station near the back by the window and opened her notebook. She liked sitting there because of the natural light, and no one usually bothered her.
Students started coming in and taking their seats. Annabeth began doodling on the cover of her notebook, thinking about last week’s material, when she heard the sound of a chair being dragged right beside her.
“Is someone sitting here?”
She froze, recognizing that voice — way too casual for his own good.
“No,” she replied, way too quickly, holding her breath as he sat down, leaning back like he’d owned that seat forever.
He still smelled like chlorine, soap, and a woody cologne — the unmistakable scent of someone who’d just come from swim practice. And Annabeth wished she’d picked another table.
Mr. Festo burst into the lab like a storm, carrying a stack of folders and wearing a lab coat stained with chemicals.
“Good morning, class!” he exclaimed, dropping the folders on the desk with a loud thud. The sound echoed like thunder and made half the class straighten up. “I hope you enjoyed your weekend, because the semester is coming to an end, and that means…”
He paused dramatically.
“…final project.”
A chorus of groans and murmurs filled the room.
“And before anyone asks: no, you’re not choosing your partners. I’ve rearranged everything to shake things up a bit. Some of you need to learn how to survive outside your comfort zones — and I’m talking to you, Clarisse. No Silena.”
Clarisse muttered a curse while Silena dramatically complained, considering they had done every chemistry project together the entire year.
Annabeth glanced sideways, where Percy was tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the table, distracted as always. Did he even care? He’d probably get along with anyone — except Clarisse, for obvious childish rivalry reasons (which Annabeth found ridiculous, considering Clarisse had been bullying Percy since he was twelve and she was fourteen). And definitely not Annabeth herself, though for reasons only she really understood.
Either way, Clarisse was repeating the year for failing last time, so it wasn’t like she was in a position to mock anyone.
“Please, not him,” Annabeth thought.
What were the chances anyway?
Festo began calling out the pairs from the list. The classroom shifted as students moved to sit with their partners while waiting for further instructions.
When Annabeth heard, “Miss Chase… and Nightshade,” she sighed in relief. Zoë Nightshade was a great student, disciplined, and took assignments seriously. Exactly what she needed to finish the semester in peace.
But then Festo frowned.
“Ah. It seems Miss Nightshade has been transferred to Advanced Chemistry in the afternoon. In that case…” He slid his finger down the list. “Jackson, Percy.”
Annabeth felt her stomach drop, her smile dying instantly as realization hit.
Percy slowly turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow and smiling with that irritatingly amused expression of someone who thought the universe had just played a joke in his favor.
“Surprise,” he murmured.
She buried her face in her hands.
It was official: the universe hated her.
Professor Festo started explaining the assignment like he was narrating a NASA lab mission. He paced back and forth, gesturing with a dropper in hand and an energy that did not seem appropriate for a Monday morning.
“The final project will obviously be done in pairs and will be worth fifty percent of your grade for the term,” he announced, as the class let out a collective groan of disapproval. “You will develop an experiment that demonstrates an endothermic or exothermic chemical reaction — and no, do not blow anything up, Mr. Valdez, I’m watching you.”
Laughter echoed through the room, and Percy, of course, laughed too. A genuine, easy laugh, as if humor were a natural extension of him. Annabeth kept her eyes on her notebook, but she noticed the sound. She always did.
“Today, you’ll just do a small exercise to review the concepts and see if you’re capable of working in pairs without setting the lab on fire,” Festo continued, writing something on the board while students put on their white lab coats. “Mix baking soda with vinegar and observe the reaction. Then write down what you see. Too easy for a graduating class, right? Let’s see if you can manage without getting distracted.”
Annabeth took a deep breath and started writing down every detail, even the ones that seemed obvious. She liked making sure she was right — she liked being right, period. Percy, on the other hand, seemed more interested in figuring out how many bubbles could fit into a test tube while getting distracted setting up their materials on the counter.
“So, how much vinegar are we supposed to use again?” he asked, leaning over her notebook. His smell — chlorine, soap, and cologne — invaded the space between them.
Annabeth straightened her posture, keeping her eyes on the page. “Enough to react, not enough to flood the table.”
Percy let out an “oh” and grabbed the vinegar bottle like someone about to make a magic potion. He was annoyingly adorable, with that touch of lightness Annabeth might have appreciated if she weren’t so tense.
“You seem very confident about that,” he said, opening the bottle.
“Because I actually read the instructions,” she replied dryly, without looking up. She couldn’t look into his eyes without getting nervous.
He smiled, like he found her impatience funny. “You should relax, you know? It’s just a simple experiment, like elementary school level.”
“Simple until someone decides to play mad scientist and pours in too much vinegar.”
Percy faked being offended. “Hey, I know what I’m doing. I used to do this when I was a kid.”
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, risking a quick glance at his face. “Did you also set the stove on fire?”
“Not after I grew up,” he replied with a crooked smile.
She scoffed and carefully measured the baking soda, trying to ignore the way he was watching her, elbow on the table, an amused expression. It was like he was studying the way she frowned or pressed her lips together. And that made her even more uncomfortable.
“You write while I mix?” he suggested.
“No,” she answered automatically.
“Then I write?”
“No.”
“So what do I do then?”
“Don’t get in the way.”
He chuckled, and she felt heat rise up her neck. Percy Jackson was, without a doubt, the kind of problem that didn’t come in reagent bottles, but produced the same effects: confusion, heat, and an impossible reaction to control. And she hated that — a lot.
When he poured the vinegar into the beaker, the foam bubbled over, spreading across the counter and dripping down like a mini volcanic eruption. Percy widened his eyes in the exact same way she remembered from when he was a kid. The very same expression. “Whoa!”
“Whoa nothing!” Annabeth exclaimed, grabbing a paper towel to contain the disaster. “I told you not to overdo it!”
“But it was just a little extra—”
“A little?” She pointed at the overflowing beaker. “It looks like Mount Vesuvius!”
He bit his lip, trying to hold back a laugh, which only made it worse. Stupid dimple. “Well, at least it worked. Exothermic reaction detected.”
Annabeth shot him a sharp look. “It’s not exothermic, genius. It’s endothermic.”
Percy blinked, confused, then made a face like he totally understood. “That’s what I said.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She huffed. “I can’t believe I’m doing a project worth 50% of my final grade with him,” she muttered to herself.
He smiled, not offended in the slightest — if anything, entertained.
He reached out to stir the test tube and got a slap on the back of his hand from Annabeth, who pushed him away before he could mess anything else up. Completely unfazed, he wet his lips and turned fully toward her. “You’re pretty bossy, you know that, smart girl?”
“And you’re pretty distracted, seaweed brain.”
“And you like that,” he teased, in that far-too-light tone, with the tip of a smile that seemed like he wanted to find out how much she could take before finally snapping.
Annabeth stared at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. She did like it. Unavoidably, irritatingly, she loved it. “I like working alone.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She snapped her notebook shut, the sound echoing like a final period. “You’re unbearable.”
“Thank you,” he said, pleased.
Festo looked up from the front. “Mr. Jackson, focus! And Miss Chase, try not to murder your partner.”
The class didn’t pay much attention, everyone focused on their respective pairs. Annabeth rolled her eyes, and Percy just smirked to himself, like he’d won the round.
The rest of the class was an exercise in patience.
While Festo handed out test tubes and reagents on the main counter, Annabeth tried to stay focused on the instructions, but the simple presence of Percy Jackson half a meter away seemed to challenge every law of human concentration. He had the irritating talent of filling up a room — whether with a comment, a gesture, or the soft tapping of his pen against the glass.
“You’re going to measure the pH of the substances and observe the reactions in pairs,” the teacher explained as he walked between the tables, redirecting the task. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing explosive here. Unless you mix the wrong substances — which, judging by some of you, is perfectly possible.”
A few laughs echoed through the classroom, probably because the teacher had aimed the comment at someone, but Annabeth didn’t react or even pay attention. She was writing down the instructions with almost military precision in her notebook, jotting formulas and small observations while Percy stared at the citric acid bottle as if it were a cosmic mystery.
“So… if this is like lemon, can I put it in soda?” he asked quietly, with a curious sparkle in his eyes. What was his problem with just staying quiet?
She slowly lifted her gaze, as if doubting what she’d just heard. “That’s acid, Percy. It’ll corrode your soda. And if you drink it, it’ll corrode your stomach.”
“Oh,” he answered, thoughtfully. “So it’s kind of like the feeling I get when I drink the cafeteria coffee.”
Annabeth sighed, unable to stop the corner of her mouth from betraying a faint smile. “The cafeteria coffee isn’t a controlled chemical substance — yet.”
“Wow, ‘yet,’” he repeated, smiling a little wider. “So there’s hope. And you do have a sense of humor.”
She ignored him and went back to writing.
Or at least she tried to.
Because with every movement, she felt his gaze following her, curious, as if studying her handwriting was more interesting than any chemical reaction.
“Your handwriting looks like my dad’s,” he commented suddenly. “All rounded letters. He says that’s a sign of intelligence.”
“He’s your stepdad and a teacher, Percy. Of course he’d say that to convince you to write more legibly.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, then leaned slightly over her notebook. “But in your case, I think it’s true. Your writing looks… focused.”
Annabeth froze, her pen suspended in the air.
Focused?
Of all the words he could have chosen, he picked one that sounded like a disguised compliment — and she hated how much it threw her off balance.
“You’re the one who should be focusing on measuring the pH.”
“I’m trying.” He picked up the testing strip, holding it so carefully it looked like he was handling a nuclear artifact. “But I think you should do it. You seem way more… calibrated for this kind of thing.”
“Calibrated?” she repeated, staring at him. Calibrated?
“Like… precise. Careful.” He shrugged. “I’m more the type who mixes everything together just to see what happens.”
“Yes, I know.” She took the strip from his hands before total disaster struck. “And usually what happens is a small chaos — emphasis on chaos.”
“Gotta get your attention somehow, right?”
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Percy had this unsettling way of sounding genuine even when he was joking. And no matter how hard she tried to keep her composure, there was something about him — the ease of his smile, the way he tilted his head when he spoke — that made it difficult to maintain the safe distance she’d built over the years.
They spent the rest of the activity in a fragile balance between silence and his occasional teasing. Festo walked around the room, praising some pairs’ results, until he dramatically announced the end of class.
“Excellent, class! Turn in your results before leaving along with your daily reports. And remember: the final project is worth half your term grade, so choose your study location wisely. You’ll have more than a month until the deadline — plenty of time to find out if you’re compatible as a team or if you’ll need therapy, since I have absolutely no intention of changing the pairs.”
The bell rang too loudly, cutting through the chatter and the smell of vinegar that lingered in the air. Half of the students started packing up before Festo even finished his last instructions, and the professor muttered something about “impatient teenagers” while collecting the test tubes.
Annabeth took off her lab coat and began gathering her things quickly, with the urgency of someone who needed to escape before the universe threw another irony her way. She was almost there, slipping the strap of her backpack onto her shoulder, when a hand closed around her wrist just as she moved to stand.
Nothing had prepared Annabeth for the shockwave that ran through her body.
She turned almost instantly, reacting desperately to his touch, pulling her wrist back as if she felt repulsed. And, well, in a way she did. Not repulsed by him — but by how his touch made her feel.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Percy started, lifting the hand that had held her, as if he didn’t know what to do with it after her reaction. “Can I walk you? So we can talk about… um, the project?”
She stood there in a daze for a moment, not reacting. Only when he started moving did she realize he was ready to leave too.
Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest, retreating into her own shell, mentally bracing herself before nodding.
They walked down the hallway at an unhurried pace — it was lunchtime, after all. Percy started talking while Annabeth kept her eyes fixed on a point straight ahead, trying not to look at him too much.
“We should decide when we’re starting. That way we don’t leave everything to the last minute,” he commented casually.
“We can meet at the library on Friday, after class,” she replied, without adding much more.
“I can’t,” he said too fast. The slightly awkward smile appeared when she made the terrible mistake of looking at him. “The state competition is at the end of the month, and the coach wants us to pick up the pace.”
Oh, great. Of course. Percy Jackson, star and captain of the swim team — too busy to even breathe. Literally.
“Then Monday.”
“I train then too.”
Annabeth raised her eyebrows, incredulous. “You train every day?”
“Almost. The coach says if I want to win, I need to think about the pool even in my sleep.” He laughed, which only annoyed her more. Why was he always laughing?
“Fine,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. “Then on the weekend.”
He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I train Saturday morning and afternoon. Sundays I usually rest.”
“You mean sleep all day,” she shot back.
“Depends on your point of view.”
She crossed her arms tighter, stopping in the middle of the hallway. “Percy, I really need you to take this seriously. This project is worth 50% of our grade, and I’m still trying to prepare for college.”
He looked at her, hands in his pockets.
“I have no intention of leaving you to do everything alone, Annabeth. I’m just really busy.”
“And I’m just full of free time, right?”
“That’s not what I—” He sighed. “I’m saying that to have a healthy routine, we need a day off. Not just me. You too.”
“So what do you suggest?” she asked, turning back to him. As much as she hated it, he was right. It wasn’t fair to demand they work on Sundays.
He thought for a moment, and his eyes lit up with something that looked innocent — something Annabeth didn’t trust for a second.
“I’ll move my Saturday afternoon practices to Friday mornings.”
She couldn’t say she expected that from someone who slept through first period and was clearly not a morning person. And she couldn’t help feeling shaken by his sacrifice, shifting uncomfortably and uncrossing her arms. That kind of gesture always got to her. That kind of gesture reminded her why she was in love with him.
Hesitantly, she said, “The library isn’t open on Saturday afternoons.”
“Then we can do it at my place. My parents will probably be locked in their office working on something.”
Annabeth blinked. “At your place?”
She stared at him, really considering the proposal. It would be his territory. She hated the idea — but what could she suggest? Her own chaotic house, with busy parents, eleven-year-old twins, and a massive dog? Better she stepped into his world than the other way around.
His gaze held hers, too light, too disarming.
For a second, she was ready to say no. She was about to say no. Distance was safer — emotional distance, physical distance, whatever distance she could keep.
But the way he waited for her answer, the way his expression was so genuine and a little too confident, left her defenseless.
“Fine,” she finally said, her voice far steadier than she felt. “Next Saturday. At your house.”
His smile widened, and Annabeth had the strange feeling she’d just agreed to something far more dangerous than a simple chemistry project.
“Deal,” he said, sliding his notebook into his bag. “I promise I won’t blow anything up.”
“You promise a lot of things.”
“And I keep most of them.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a small smile.
“Bye, Seaweed Brain.”
“See you Saturday, Wise Girl!” he called after her.
And when she finally felt far enough away, she smiled.
On Friday night, the sound of the shower water hitting the tiles was the only noise filling the Jackson-Blofis bathroom. Percy ran a towel through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was, and headed straight to his room. He tossed his phone onto the bed, pulled on an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, then stepped into the hallway, already catching the familiar smell of tomato sauce drifting from the kitchen.
He heard the clatter of pans and his mother’s soft voice humming some random 80s song, and he smiled. This was his favorite kind of Friday — training done, muscles exhausted, the house warm, the smell of good food in the air. A breath before being thrown back into his brutal routine.
But something was still pounding in his head, something that had been growing all week.
Percy walked up to the office and knocked lightly before stepping inside. Paul Jackson-Blofis was at his desk, surrounded by stacks of graded papers and abandoned coffee cups, the yellow light of the desk lamp reflecting on his reading glasses.
“I had an idea,” Percy said, stopping in the doorway.
Paul looked up, arching an eyebrow above the lenses. “And is that a good thing?”
Percy sighed. “It’s brilliant, actually. Maybe a little suicidal.”
Paul carefully set down his red pen and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms patiently. “Well then, I’m very interested in hearing this suicidal plan.”
Percy took a deep breath, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets. “How humiliating would it be if I asked Annabeth Chase to prom?”
Paul tried not to laugh. He failed miserably.
“Ah, young, unrequited love… the most tragic of all sports.”
“It’s not funny, dad.”
“It’s a little funny.”
The silence that followed was almost comical. Paul blinked slowly, trying to figure out if Percy was serious. When he realized he was, he let out another soft chuckle.
“Well… I actually think it’s a great idea, considering you’ve been in love with her since you were twelve.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “But didn’t she hate you until, like, yesterday?”
“And that’s where the suicidal part comes in,” Percy grimaced. “And I don’t know if it’s hate. Maybe… disdain. Or indifference. A polite kind of hate…?”
“A polite kind of hate?” Paul raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that a thing?”
“It is when it comes from Annabeth,” Percy said, dropping into the armchair in front of the desk and messing up his wet hair again.
Paul chuckled, resting his chin in his hand.
“Right, so you’re going to face the girl who’s probably ignored you since elementary school and ask her to dance with you in public.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds terrible.”
“No, no. I admire the audacity.”
“She’s… different. Smart in a way that makes you feel stupid. And I don’t know if she does it on purpose or if I just start acting like an idiot around her.”
Paul tried not to smile. “Yeah, son, considering you just called the whole plan ‘suicidal’, I’d say the second option is highly likely.”
Percy rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away.
“I don’t think she really hates me,” he said thoughtfully. “But I think to her, I’m just the pool guy. The guy who lives in swim caps and chlorine, who never takes anything seriously.”
“And do you?”
The question caught him off guard. Percy frowned.
“Do I what?”
“Take it seriously. Her, I mean.”
Percy hesitated, staring at the floor for a moment. His voice came out quieter. “I do. I always have, I think.”
Paul watched him in silence, a small smile on his face — one of those that carried pride and understanding at the same time.
“You know, Percy,” he said, “the smartest people, when they think someone is just ‘the pool guy’, they wait to see what he does when no one is watching — the small things.”
Percy rested his chin on his hand, thoughtful. “Like what?”
“Like whether he’s kind to others. Whether he’s friendly. And most of all, whether he still thinks about her when he gets home exhausted and talks about her at the first opportunity.”
“Dad, that’s a very specific hint.”
Paul laughed. “So I hit the target.”
Percy threw a crumpled paper ball at him, and their laughter filled the office for a few seconds.
Deep down, he knew his stepfather was right. He thought about her more than he wanted to admit. In the hallways, in class, even during practice — sometimes he caught himself remembering the way she rolled her eyes, how she bit her lip when she was irritated, how she pretended not to hear him. And it was ridiculous. He could have chosen any other girl, but instead he chose the only one who made him feel like he was trying to swim against an impossible current.
Percy sighed, sinking deeper into the chair. “I’ve been thinking about this because now she won’t be able to ignore me. It might be my chance. Mr. Festo paired us up for the final chemistry project.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “You two? As partners?”
“Yeah. And I was stupid enough to suggest we do the project here at home on Saturday afternoons.”
“Don’t you have practice on Saturday afternoons?”
“Yeah, but I talked to the coach about moving it to Friday mornings,” Percy said, half defeated.
“And since when can you wake up at five in the morning to train?!” Paul widened his eyes.
“That’s the problem! She makes me make stupid decisions!” Percy complained, restless.
“I should’ve just accepted my cosmic punishment and kept quiet, suggested the library, another time, anything. But no. I went and said, ‘We can do it at my place.’ And now she’s coming tomorrow.”
Paul leaned forward, clearly amused.
“So let me get this straight. You’re going to spend several Saturday afternoons alone with the girl you’re in love with, who you think hates you, and you’re still considering asking her to prom.”
“See? I told you it was suicidal.”
Paul laughed, crossing his arms. “I call it ambitious. But honestly, it sounds like fate’s trying to give you a chance.”
“Or humiliate me with style.”
“Depends on your point of view.” Paul supported his chin with his hand, analyzing him. “But if you want my advice…”
Percy looked up, curious.
“Don’t try to impress her with the invite. Or with chemistry — literally. Just enjoy the time together. Talk to her. Show her you’re still the same kid who made her laugh in kindergarten, even if she pretends she doesn’t remember. Just… keep being you.”
Percy let out a short, slightly bitter laugh.
“Kind of hard to make someone laugh when she thinks I’m a walking disaster.”
“Well, sometimes that’s exactly what people need,” Paul said. “A disaster that makes them forget the rest of the world. And in my professional opinion about Annabeth… she really needs to forget the rest of the world sometimes.”
The silence that followed was comfortable. Percy stared at the surface of the desk, the soft lamplight reflecting off the scattered notebooks, and felt something heavy settle in his chest — a mix of anxiety and hope.
“I really like her, dad. Like… a lot.”
“I know, bud. Everyone knows. Even the neighbor’s dog probably knows.”
Before he could reply, Sally’s voice echoed down the hallway:
“Paul! Percy! Dinner’s ready!”
Paul stood up, stretching, his back cracking slightly, gathering the mess of cups and papers to take to the kitchen. “Looks like the love counseling session is over for today.”
Percy stood up too, still smiling, though there was an uneasiness behind his eyes.
“Dad.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think… if I ask her, she’ll say yes?”
Paul stopped at the doorway and turned back, choosing his words carefully. “Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
“On you not acting like a complete idiot.”
Percy scoffed, but the laugh came along. “Great. So I’m already at a disadvantage.”
Paul smiled, stepping aside to let him pass. “Yeah, but at least you’ve got a good heart. And sometimes, that makes up for the stupidity.”
Percy followed his stepfather down the hallway, the smell of dinner growing stronger — sauce, garlic bread, home.
“Percy, sweetheart, put some food out for Blackjack, please.” His mother came into view as he walked toward the kitchen with Paul.
Blackjack, their black cat with a little white patch on his forehead, rubbed against her legs. Sally looked radiant in her light floral dress, which made her nearly eight-month pregnant belly even more noticeable.
She stood with her back to them, her hair tied in a loose bun, one hand resting on her lower back — the automatic gesture of someone carrying almost eight months of pregnancy. She stirred the sauce with gentle focus while Paul immediately stepped in to help set the table.
“Let me get the plates, Sal.”
“Thanks, dear. Just try not to mix up the sizes again. Last month you served dinner on the dessert plates.”
Paul gave Percy a guilty, amused smile.
“It happens once and you’re never forgiven.”
Laughing, Percy stretched to reach Blackjack’s food container in the cabinet. He poured some kibble into the bowl, and the cat immediately trotted over, meowing excitedly. Percy scratched him between the ears, put the container away, and then went to help his stepdad set the table.
Within minutes, garlic bread, pasta, sauce, and the classic orange juice Sally insisted on making every Friday were all laid out.
When they sat down, Paul served his wife first, with such exaggerated care that Percy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. His stepfather had become extremely protective ever since they found out about the pregnancy. It was kind of adorable. Sally took the plate and looked at both of them with an amused, knowing smile.
“So,” she said, twirling her fork, “what were you two plotting in the office? You looked way too focused for someone just talking about sports or homework.”
Percy lightly choked on his juice, and Paul, of course, took the opportunity.
“Oh, nothing serious. Just discussing a strategic plan involving schoolwork, chemistry, and a girl with braids.”
Sally raised her eyebrows, delighted. “Oh? So we’re finally making progress in the Annabeth Chase department?”
“Mom…” Percy groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“Baby, you can’t blame us for being interested in your love life. You’ve spent the last few years half talking about this girl and the other half pretending you’re not talking about her.”
“I just said we’re doing a chemistry project together, okay? Tomorrow.” Percy gestured, trying to sound casual.
“She’s coming over, we’ll do the first practical part and… that’s it.”
Paul fake-coughed. “The practical part?”
“Dad!”
Sally was grinning from ear to ear, clearly entertained.
“Well, in that case, I’ll tidy up the office early tomorrow. I don’t want her thinking we live in complete chaos.”
“Please, mom, don’t do anything extra. She’s just coming to study. And besides, I told her you’d be busy in the office and that we could stay somewhere else.”
“Of course, of course,” Sally replied, far too innocently to be convincing.
“And I’ll just serve some cookies and lemonade and pretend I’m not watching you through the crack in your bedroom door.”
“Sal,” Paul warned, laughing as he served her more sauce. “Don’t scare the kid.”
“Oh, let him be. He’s a Jackson. He knows how to swim in rough waters.”
“You two are having way too much fun with this,” Percy muttered, though his smile betrayed him.
Dinner went on in laughter and gentle teasing, the kind of conversation that filled the apartment with life. In the end, as Sally leaned back in her chair, tired but content, Percy cleared the dishes and felt that familiar tightness in his chest — the good kind.
A home.
A family.
To think that was all Percy had ever wanted when he was five and had a neglectful father. Now, he had everything he’d ever dreamed of… except for a brown-eyed girl who, for some reason, had claimed his heart long ago and made him question everything ever since.
Saturday dawned with the smell of fresh coffee and the distant sound of the washing machine. Percy woke up early — far too early for a Saturday without practice — and after ten minutes staring at the ceiling, he decided he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Not with the persistent reminder that she was coming. He didn’t even feel like training; that was how bad it was.
He spent most of the morning trying to look productive. He organized his chemistry materials, sorted the papers, cleaned his room (twice), and even mopped the floor, which, according to Sally, was the real miracle of the day. When the clock hit eleven-thirty, the apartment already smelled like blue cookies and fresh lemonade. Sally had insisted on making “something light, just to impress,” even though Percy swore it wasn’t necessary.
“You’ve been pacing since nine,” Sally observed, leaning against the counter, one hand on her hip and the other holding a glass of water. “Want me to make you some anxiety tea?”
“I’m not anxious.”
“Of course not.” She smiled indulgently. “You just look like a cat trapped in a box, right, Blackjack?” The cat meowed as if in agreement.
Percy opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted him. His heart skipped a beat. Sally gave him a mischievous smile. The cat ran off, startled.
“Go on, Romeo.”
He huffed, trying not to show his nerves, but the way he wiped his hands on his pants before opening the door gave him away.
Annabeth was standing there in the hallway, a crossbody bag hanging from one shoulder and her hair tied in a slightly crooked low bun, like she’d hurried to fix it on the way. She was wearing a simple white T-shirt that clung to her body and low-rise dark jeans, leaving a strip of skin visible at her waist — nothing scandalous, but Percy had the impression the hallway air had grown heavier. It should be illegal for someone to be that beautiful without any effort. And Annabeth was beautiful. She always had been.
“Hi,” she said, her tone a mix of formality and hesitation.
“Hi,” he replied, half-smiling, half-lost. “Come in.”
She stepped inside, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her gaze discreetly scanning the apartment. The place was bright, full of plants, and smelled like fresh-baked cookies — very different from the chaos of school. Maybe that was why she looked a little out of place. That territory was new for both of them. Seeing her there from that angle was already unsettling; imagine how she felt, someone who at least liked him.
Sally appeared in view again, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Annabeth! It’s so nice to finally meet you, dear.” His mom couldn’t help but hug her, of course. “Welcome!”
Annabeth widened her eyes at the pregnant woman, surprised by the greeting, but smiled a little shyly in a way Percy found adorable.
“Hi, Mrs. Jackson. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, no ‘Mrs.,’ please. Let me feel young a little longer.” Sally laughed and handed her a glass of lemonade, which Annabeth held, a little too timidly. “Make yourself at home, dear.”
“Thank you.”
Percy noticed she was holding the glass with both hands, like it helped keep her steady. Her smile was polite, but her body seemed stiff, almost on alert. He wondered if she was hating all of this — the place, the situation, or maybe him.
“Mom?” he said pointedly, trying to redirect things.
“Yes?” Sally looked at him, one hand on her belly. They stared at each other for a few seconds. “Oh! Right! Of course! If you need anything, Paul and I will be in the office.” She quickly ruffled her son’s curly hair, winked at Annabeth, said it was lovely meeting her, and disappeared down the hallway.
An awkward silence filled the space.
“Did you find the building alright?” he asked.
God, Percy wanted to punch himself for asking something so stupid. Paul’s advice about “not being an idiot” had completely gone out the window.
“Uh… yeah, I did.”
“This place is pretty nice, right? My mom’s the one with good taste. I just live here.” She looked at him in a way that made him blush all the way to his ears. He wanted to throw himself out the window. “Do you… want to go to my room?” he suggested, trying to sound casual. “There’s more space to, you know… spread stuff out.”
She nodded quickly, like she just wanted to end that torture. “Yeah. Sure.”
He led the way, feeling his breathing grow heavier. His room, which half an hour earlier had seemed organized enough, now felt way too small. The shelves full of random stuff, the empty aquarium reflecting the sunlight from the window, and the bed — no matter how many times he’d smoothed the covers — now looked like a minefield of imperfect wrinkles.
She glanced around, and for a second Percy wondered what she was seeing. The world map on the wall? The pile of books on his desk? The sneakers left near the closet? The 90s alternative rock posters? Maybe the skateboard was in a terrible spot… Maybe he hadn’t cleaned enough, maybe—
“You have a cat.”
Her voice cut through his spiral when he noticed Blackjack lying by the window near the fire escape, napping in the sunlight. What if she was allergic?
Percy just nodded.
“He’s cute. I have a dog.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cerberus.”
“That sounds exactly like the name of a dog you would have.”
She laughed. God, she laughed!
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Blackjack. My choice, obviously.”
“He’s really cute.” Then she set her bag down on the floor, knelt, and started taking her materials out with almost surgical efficiency. Percy crouched beside her to help, trying not to look like an idiot while she arranged everything so precisely.
“I brought the reagents,” she said, placing a small vial on the floor.
“I also prepared some notes.” He held out a slightly crumpled notebook.
“You wrote this?!” The look of surprise on her face had no right to be that cute.
“Of course. Do I not look like the kind of guy who takes notes?”
“To be honest,” she said, opening the notebook and raising an eyebrow, “you look like the type who writes his own name wrong on the cover.”
“That happened once.”
“And your teacher still called you Percey for a whole month in freshman year.” Annabeth handed the notebook back to him.
She remembered that? Was that a good sign? Or was he just a memorable idiot?
Percy opened the notebook with exaggerated care, as if every page was a clue to decoding the universe. Annabeth, already kneeling on the floor beside the reagents, began organizing everything with almost military precision. She took a deep breath, checking each label and vial, and Percy had the strange feeling that every one of her movements was choreographed — even though she was just opening a test tube.
“Be careful with that one,” she warned, pointing at a small bottle of acidic solution. “If you spill it, it’ll stain the wood. And I don’t want your mom thinking I’m rude for not taking care of her floor.”
“I’ve got it,” Percy replied with that annoying little smile she clearly hated — but hey, she cared about his mom. He tried to sound serious, but couldn’t resist adding, “Am I still allowed to get hurt?”
“It’s possible,” she shot back, lifting an eyebrow. “Try not to be an idiot.”
He laughed, even though he knew it probably annoyed her more. The tension in the air was almost physical, but in a strange way he didn’t want to end. Every time she concentrated, biting her lower lip in that way that completely hypnotized him, Percy thought he could spend hours just watching her, without doing a single thing.
Blackjack, who had been lazily sleeping on the windowsill, decided Annabeth deserved his attention. He jumped down with a loud meow and rubbed himself against her legs. Annabeth looked down, surprised, and couldn’t resist — she adjusted her position and ran a hand through his soft fur, her expression softening for a moment, which made Percy hold his breath without even realizing.
“He’s smart,” she commented, still petting him, and noticed the clumsy way Percy was trying to transfer the reagents without spilling anything. “Percy, you need to be more careful with the hydroxide. It’s not a toy.”
“I know,” he said, lifting the vial with exaggerated care, as if every milligram were crucial to the survival of the world.
“No, you don’t,” she replied, not realizing the way she bit her lip while talking was making him imagine a thousand possibilities about her. Including shutting her up with a kiss. “That tube is sensitive.”
He let out a quiet huff, but on the inside he was completely melting. Every time she corrected him, he felt like he was being scolded — and at the same time, like she was letting him be closer to her than he ever had before. And the cruelest part: he believed she would never feel the same way about him, never as naturally as daylight itself.
As they worked side by side, Percy started picking up on details he’d never noticed before. The way she furrowed her brow when something was off, the subtle, silent impatience whenever he messed up, and sometimes — just sometimes — a nearly-there smile when something went right. Every gesture of hers felt like a lesson he desperately wanted to decipher. And honestly? He loved every second of it — that improvised mix of chemistry and human behavior. Thanks, Festo.
“This pipette has too much in it,” Annabeth pointed out, indicating the glass tip he was holding awkwardly.
“Oops,” he said, quickly looking away. “I’ll try again.”
“More careful, Jackson.” She bit her lip and paused, in a way he was sure was just to observe him — not to emphasize the correction or anything.
He smiled, even if only to himself. “Yes, Miss Chase.”
The cat, meanwhile, seemed to approve of their dynamic: he kept weaving around her legs, meowing, and she let out a quiet sigh, scratching behind his ears.
“He likes you,” Percy said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
“He’s cute,” she replied, and there was a warmth in her voice that he swore he felt, even if it disappeared too fast for him to be sure.
“Yeah, just don’t let him distract you from the work,” he said, not very seriously.
Annabeth looked up at him, eyebrow raised, still petting the cat. “Did you forget who you’re talking to?”
He just laughed, sliding a sheet of paper for the report toward her with one hand while holding the pipette in the other. And so the afternoon went on — between test tubes, notes, and subtle corrections. Percy growing more enchanted, Annabeth growing more nervous — but for both of them, that was the first of many sessions that no one knew would become much more than just a chemistry assignment.
For almost two more hours, they repeated the same routine: Percy handling the reagents, Annabeth writing and adjusting instructions, interrupting with small corrections and occasionally letting out a low sigh of frustration — which Percy took as mild disdain, but enjoyed anyway, just for being near her. Every remark, every adjustment, every dry instruction made him more captivated, more fascinated, more in love. He caught himself studying her every move, over and over. To him, it was all mesmerizing.
Finally, they reached an acceptable result for the first part of the assignment. Percy smiled, proud of himself, even though he knew half the victory belonged to Annabeth. He lifted the vial to put it away, but in the next second, a small accident happened: the bubbling liquid slipped, and he slightly burned his fingertips. A startled gasp escaped his mouth.
“Percy!” Annabeth lunged forward like an arrow, her heart racing. Her eyes widened when she saw his reddened skin. “Damn it, I told you to be more careful!”
He blinked a few times, stunned by how fast she was. Before he could even protest, Annabeth had already taken the lead: she stood up, pulled him to his feet, and said firmly,
“Let’s go to the bathroom, quickly!”
Percy didn’t hesitate. He felt her touch guiding his arm, the physical closeness that, despite the incident, left him completely electric. Every inch of distance between them seemed to disappear, and he took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that it had just been a small chemical accident — not something worse.
Once she led him into the bathroom, after a quick search by herself, Annabeth turned on the faucet, switched on the cold water, and made him place his hands under the stream while she leaned over him to make sure the water hit his burned fingers properly. The scent of soap mixed with Annabeth’s sweet, citrusy perfume lingered in the air, and he found himself hypnotized by her closeness — the warmth of her body near his, the precision with which she washed his fingers, every movement radiating care and attention.
“Hell, this could’ve been much more serious,” she said without looking at him, her voice steady and focused, entirely on what she was doing. Percy felt every word as if they were whispered directly to his heart.
He was completely in love, but she seemed so concentrated on the procedure that, for a few seconds, he could forget he had two slightly burned fingers — just because Annabeth Chase was so close to him. Really close. Every shared breath, every careful movement she made, left him dizzier, more foolish from how much he liked her.
When she finally turned off the water and his fingers stopped stinging, Percy looked at her, his eyes bright, and noticed how she took a deep breath, carefully shut the faucet, and frowned as she inspected his fingers, her eyes scanning the small burn with surgical attention.
“Where do you keep the first aid kit?” she asked, her voice firm, but with a hint of apprehension he didn’t notice.
Percy nodded upward toward the shelf above the sink.
“Up there, in the cabinet.”
He tried to sound casual, but his heart was racing, and every movement she made so close to him made his breathing falter.
Annabeth stood on her tiptoes, opened the cabinet, and grabbed the ointment and a small bandage from the white box, turning back to him with almost hypnotic precision.
“Stay still, okay?” she said.
He nodded, even though he was trying to ignore the fact that she was so close he could smell her shampoo, mixed with her perfume. It was a dangerous combination.
She spread the ointment over the red, sensitive skin, and Percy let out a low groan — more out of instinct than pain.
“Sshh, easy,” she whispered, carefully smoothing the ointment. “It’s a weak reagent. Tomorrow it should be better.”
“Could chlorine make it worse? I have training on Monday.”
“Relax, big baby. Chlorine won’t make a burn worse,” she replied, wrapping his index and middle fingers.
“I’m not even getting a kiss to make it better?” he asked, half joking, half nervous.
Annabeth just smiled and shook her head. Percy counted that as a victory.
“You need to press it for a minute so the ointment absorbs,” Annabeth instructed. “Like this.”
She pressed the bandage against his finger, their hands touching for a few seconds, until she finally looked up at him. Their gazes locked for a moment so long Percy felt each heartbeat like thunder.
Blue into brown.
Brown into blue.
He could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of something in her eyes — concern, care, and for a tiny moment, something that almost looked like affection. He got lost in that second, breathing slowly so he wouldn’t look even more like an idiot.
Her eyes were like a deer’s, a deep chocolate brown, captivating and hypnotizing. Her nose was like a little button in the center of her face, so cute he had to fight the urge to brush his nose against hers. Her full lips, covered in a purple-toned lipstick, made her mouth even more irresistible — perfectly shaped as if designed for him to lean in and kiss them — and that little beauty mark just below her lower lip, on the right side of her chin. Even that was beautiful on her.
“Percy?!”
He jumped at the voice, turning so fast toward the door that his hand knocked into something on the sink, sending it clattering with a loud snap.
“Dad?” he replied, like a startled cat.
“Uh… everything okay here?”
Paul’s tone was calm, but firm.
Annabeth widened her eyes, letting out a small nervous laugh, while Percy stepped back, trying to regain the dignity that had already gone out the window.
“I-it’s all good! I just burned myself a little,” he said, trying to sound casual, wiggling his still slightly red fingers, now wrapped in bandages.
Paul came closer, with the calm expression of someone who hadn’t seen anything, but with that subtle authority only parents have. Of course, there was also that hint of complicity in his expression that clearly said he’d bring it up with Percy later.
“I just came to call you because Sally made cookies and set the table for afternoon coffee,” he explained, somewhat sympathetic toward his son’s nervousness.
Percy looked at him, mouth slightly open, then back at Annabeth behind him, who was already trying to hold back her laughter.
Paul gave Annabeth a small wave.
“Good to see you, Miss Chase.”
“Likewise, Professor Blofis,” she replied with a nod.
Satisfied, Paul walked away, leaving the two of them alone again — but now the atmosphere lighter and, for Percy, even more irresistible.
He looked at Annabeth and said, a bit awkwardly,
“I promise it won’t happen again.”
She smiled, small and a little nervous.
“You make a lot of promises.”
“And I keep most of them,” he replied.