Chapter Text
Percy stumbles into Cabin 3, sweaty and panting from another close call with the climbing wall. He’s pretty sure his eyebrows got singed off this time, which is a bummer. Percy spent years mastering the art of the raised brow, good for heckling bullies, friends, and monsters alike. Now all for nought, he sighs dramatically, wiping off his soot coated hands.
As he suspected, Annabeth is reclining on his bed with a book on Greco-Roman Architecture, feet kicked up like she owns the place. And, well. If she wants it Percy wouldn’t complain. They could be roommates who have wacky misadventures, like in Friends. Percy wouldn’t even make her pay rent, except in mandatory movie nights, of course.
He wonders if she’s more of a Rachel or a Monica…
Anyway, Annabeth says it’s because the Athena cabin is too loud and distracting, but Percy hopes it’s because she enjoys his scintillating company (she taught him that word last week and he keeps trying to slip it into conversation without her noticing. No luck so far).
He clears his throat and she looks up, taking in his disheveled appearance with an appraising eye that makes his stomach squirm. He suddenly remembers that he actually came here for a reason. Before he makes a fool of himself scouring the room for his missing gauntlets, Percy checks with his personal google (i.e. Annabeth Chase, i.e. his favorite know-it-all).
“Hey, do you know where I put my-”
“Gauntlets? Check the dresser, second drawer,” she says, not missing a beat. He walks over to the bedside table where he tosses all his odd belongings, and sure enough when he pulls out the second drawer, there rests his sparring gauntlets, right where he chucked them two days ago. Stupid ADHD.
“Oh, thank the Gods,” Percy groans in relief. He pulls them out and rests them in plain sight so he’s less likely to forget them later (it’s still about an 80/20 chance to be honest). “Last time I left them, Coach Hedge made me do twenty laps around the field.” His side aches just thinking about it…there’s only so many times Percy can handle being called “cupcake” while actively trying not to puke his guts out. “It’s a good thing you knew where they…”
Percy thoughts grind to a halt, metaphorical smoke leaving his ears. Or maybe literal smoke - for all he knows the lava fried more than just his eyebrows.
That’s…probably not a normal thing friends know, is it? Not that he has a whole lot of experience to compare it to, but still. He knows Grover certainly doesn’t have an itemized mental map of Percy’s cabin, even though he spends nearly as much time here as Annabeth.
Something itches at the back of his brain - an offhand comment, the smell of hay, a surprisingly talkative zebra…Percy freezes.
“What is it, Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth asks, not even looking up from her book. Like she doesn’t notice he’s mentally combusting over here.
“Annabeth,” Percy hisses, which finally gets her to look up from whatever riveting passage on Greek balusters she was reading.
“We really do act like an old married couple,” he blurts out, which is probably going on Percy’s top ten list of Times I Should Have Closed My Big Fat Mouth. It has to rank No. 7 at least.
But he can’t help it! The bickering, the easy domesticity, the finishing-each-others-sentences - these are textbook marriage tropes! At least from what Percy knows from sitcoms and reality TV. Smelly Gabe wouldn’t know marital bliss if it hit him over the head.
Oh man, his mom is never going to let him hear the end of this…
Percy waits for Annabeth to have her Eureka! moment, or at the very least an Oh wow, but she just blinks at him, unimpressed. Percy opens and closes his mouth like an idiot.
"You’re just now realizing this?” she says with a raised brow, that just might be better than his. Maybe.
Percy shakes his head in disbelief. He’s having a huge revelation here, the least she could do is act surprised. Then again, Annabeth is almost always three steps ahead of him, so this is kind of par for the course.
Percy flops down next to her on the bed with a bounce.
“I want a divorce,” he mumbles, face smushed against the comforter, and Annabeth laughs, looking down at him fondly in a way that makes Percy feel warm all over - and not from lava this time.
“Sorry. You’re stuck with me,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. Percy hides his smile in his sheets. There are far worse things he can think of. Honestly, he was about to propose a roommate situation so that’s got to count for something, right? What is marriage if not a permanent roommate, who you also kiss and stuff.
Percy flushes. Okay, not thinking about that.
He flips onto his back, watching the nets above sway hypnotically in the wind. She’s definitely a Monica, he decides. Percy always thought he was more of a Chandler which is - huh. Didn’t they get married at some point? That would be a weird coincidence.
He’s distracted by Annabeth poking his cheek with the pencil she was taking notes with, the nerd.
“You have soot on your nose,” Annabeth says offhandedly, which is only a slight step up from You drool in your sleep, but Percy will take it.
She looks like she wants to wipe it off. “If you lick your thumb and rub it off I’m calling my lawyer,” Percy deadpans. His mom does that enough and it never stops being embarrassing (but he lets her do it anyways).
Annabeth’s eyes take on a playful glint, which is all the warning he gets before she’s tossing her book to the side and grappling with him, thumb poised at the ready like she has the Cheese Touch. Percy yelps, barely dodging her advances.
“Was that a challenge, Jackson?” she asks with a devilish grin. It’s almost distracting enough to make Percy surrender, right there, but unfortunately he also has a competitive streak a mile wide. Annabeth just threw down the gauntlet (well, not his actual gauntlet, but Percy wouldn’t put it past her) and he won’t go down without a fight.
He flips around, breaking out of her attempted headlock. Annabeth gasps, mock outraged and Percy grins. “You’re on, Chase.”
It’s so stupid, wrestling with his best friend in a lumpy cabin cot. Bony elbows flying everywhere, giggles interspersed with grunts, taunting insults a plenty. But stupid in the best way - the patented Percy brand of Stupid where he tries not to take life too seriously. And it seems like it’s worn off on Annabeth too, who finally looks her age - the tension of sparring replaced by the giddiness of play.
While Percy has been getting better at hand to hand this Summer, he is still no match for Camp Half Blood’s star pupil. He groans in defeat as Annabeth pins his arms above his head, looking like the cat who got the cream. Or the Cerberus who got the ball.
“Got you,” she gloats. (She has many strengths, but gracious winning is not one of them).
“Yeah. You did,” Percy responds, a little breathless. From the wrestling, of course.
The moment stretches, thick like nectar. Annabeth is looking down at him thoughtfully. Not scrutinizing, just…observing. Scanning his face like she’s looking for an answer to an unspoken question. Normally they’re on the same wavelength, but Percy has no clue what she’s thinking - the thought makes his heart pound wildly.
After coming to some sort of conclusion (that she won’t be making him privy to, gee thanks), Annabeth lifts her thumb to Percy’s nose. He nearly goes cross-eyed trying to follow it and she huffs in amusement, flicking the side of his head.
Then she’s rubbing his nose gently - not at all like his mom does it, firm and practical. It’s… tender. Percy’s face turns molten under her touch. She’s probably just smearing it around at this point, but Percy no longer has enough functioning brain cells to care.
“There,” she whispers. It’s like a spell has been laid over the cabin, buzzing and electric. Percy would suspect Godly interference, but he’s pretty sure that’s just Annabeth.
“Thanks,” Percy whispers back.
Annabeth finally releases his wrists, but she doesn’t move away. Her braids tickle his neck and the refracted light from the fountain dances across her face. Percy’s breath catches. He refuses to call it a swoon, but it’s uncomfortably close to one.
“Does it bother you?” she asks, all of a sudden. Her brow creases in worry and Percy wants to smooth it away. He could, probably. His hand is halfway up before he realizes what she asked.
“What?” he rasps.
“That people joke that we’re…” married, she doesn’t say.
“No,” Percy says, a little too quickly. “No, of course not. You’re my best friend,” he says earnestly. “It’s kind of a compliment, actually.”
“Yeah?” a hint of a smile traces her lip. “And why’s that?”
Percy bites his tongue. Gods why can’t he just keep these thoughts to himself. You would think he would have a little more self preservation by now.
“Uh…I just mean–” He gulps, wetting his lips nervously. “That people notice how close we are.”
That anyone believes you would figuratively marry me, is what he’s thinking, but he does manage to keep his mouth shut this time. Progress.
Annabeth doesn’t respond right away, like she might dispute him, and Percy starts to panic - don’t tell him the past two months have been a buildup of false assumptions and Percy is totally misreading this. Or maybe he never left the Underworld and this is all an elaborate post-death hallucination. Creative, on Hades’ part, but-
“I can hear you overthinking, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth says in her trademark You’re being dumb voice. “Insecurity isn’t a good look on you. I was just thinking about what other people see, when they look at us…” she trails off, sounding almost shy.
Percy squints up at her. “Two kids in stupid t-shirts?” (Don’t get him wrong, the orange is kind of iconic, but he does feel like a walking traffic cone).
“No, dummy,” she hesitates, before plunging onward. “I mean, they probably think we’re dating.”
Okay, back to mental combustion.
“Huh, weird,” Percy manages, slightly strangled. Not like he’s going to be thinking about that all night.
Actually, now that he thinks about it, isn’t it sort of crazy how when a boy and girl are together people sort of assume they’re dating? Even when they’re not close like him and Annabeth. He knows there’s a word for that - something something heterotivity.
“Is it?” Now Annabeth is the one who sounds slightly insecure and that just can’t be allowed.
“Yeah, I mean…how can we be dating if we’re already married?” Percy winks, in what he hopes is a cool and suave way and not like a spasm.
Annabeth’s eyes glow, fully committed to the bit. “Better put a ring on it then.”
Percy looks around before his eyes catch on his bedside table. “How about an engagement gauntlet?”
“Hm, a bit avant garde, but I’ll take it.”
Percy sits up and grabs one. He clears his throat, putting on a deep, gravelly voice. “Annabeth Chase, will you do me the honor of…sparring with me later?” Percy bats his eyelashes ridiculously.
It has the desired effect. Bright peels of laughter fill the cabin like fireworks.
“I do,” she says primly, trying to hold a straight face as Percy slips the gauntlet onto her forearm.
It works for about 3 seconds before they dissolve into hysterical laughter. The stitch in your side, tears in your eyes, contagious kind of laughter (AKA the best kind).
Percy wipes his eyes, still giggling slightly. “But seriously, ‘Beth, we’re a package deal. You know that right?” he says sincerely.
“Yeah. I know,” she replies, with that distinctly Annabeth blend of deadpan and fond. Like she’s trying to hold it back but it just spills out.
“Like horse and chariot,” Percy continues.
She rolls her eyes, “Okay, I get it.”
“Like Grover and enchiladas!”
“Percy.”
“Like Zeus and his master bolt!” Percy pauses, listening for lightning in the distance. Hopefully the big guy didn’t hear that. “Too soon?”
“Too soon,” Annabeth agrees, but the affection is spilling out from her eyes and lips and her hands which have found their way next to his. She’s still wearing the gauntlet which makes his stomach flip, even though it was just a dumb joke.
They sit in comfortable silence for a minute, listening to the gentle lapping of the fountain, the rustle of the breeze, the indistinct chatter from passing campers.
Annabeth lies down, her head close to his knee and she sighs, deep and content. “Why is your bed more comfortable than mine? Is that some sort of forbidden kid privilege?” she hypothesizes with a fake frown.
Percy laughs softly. “Yeah, that was in the Terms and Conditions actually. Comes with deadly quests, terrifying power, and a really comfortable bed.”
“It’s a good thing I only married you for your bed then,” Annabeth says breezily, eyes fluttering closed.
Percy’s smile turns Cheshire-like. “Are you sure it’s not because of my scintillating personali-”
Annabeth’s eyes fly open and Percy barely has time to think oh shit, before she’s rolling over to shove a pillow over his face. It barely muffles Percy’s hysterical laughter. “Percy I swear to the Gods, I will drag you back to the climbing wall, don’t think I won’t-”
Worth it, for the record.
They settle down after that, Annabeth returning to her book while Percy valiantly attempts to write a letter to his mom that isn’t just five pages of gushing about his friends. Eventually he sets it aside with a huff.
Annabeth is taking notes with a fountain pen, tongue sticking out in concentration. He used to assume she would have really neat handwriting, maybe something loopy and cursive. But it’s scribbly and sharp like a doctor’s prescription - meant for efficiency, not superficial beauty. It fits her.
He likes knowing things about her, even the little mundane things like how she crosses her t’s and bounces her leg when she’s really focused.
We really have gotten close this summer, Percy thinks, a little awed. It’s hard not to, after their quest and trying to sacrifice themself for the other became something like second nature. But that was heat of the moment trust - built by necessity and circumstance and a bit of impertinence. Maybe fate, if you believe in that kind of thing.
This is a deeper familiarity, one that builds so gradually you don’t even know it’s there until it hits you one day. All the mannerisms and opinions and inside jokes accumulate into this fully formed person.
And the knowing goes both ways. Somewhere in Annabeth’s brain she has a file labeled “Percy” with probably a million subsections cause she’s ridiculously meticulous like that - and one has “he keeps his gauntlets in the second drawer.” In another “everyone thinks we act like a married couple.” Somewhere between her encyclopedic knowledge of architecture and defense strategies, Annabeth has made a space for Percy - his habits, his feelings, his memories. They’re important to her.
A lump builds in his throat and he swallows it down.
Is friendship marriage a thing? he wonders idly.
After all, if marriage is about committing yourself to that person, showing up for them again and again, seeing them through their highs and lows, well - he wouldn’t mind that with Annabeth. They kind of do that already.
He wonders if Grover would be the officiant at their platonic wedding (“I now pronounce you best friend and best friend”), then laughs to himself. Maybe they could convince Chiron to do it - Grover should be his best man.
Annabeth shoots him a bemused look. She taps his leg with her pen. Explain?
“Nothing. Just thinking about something.” He bites his lip as her nose scrunches adorably - he knows she hates not knowing things, but how do you tell your best friend that, hey, I think we’ve basically been married since we met and I want to spend the rest of my life with you?
So he uses his most foolproof Annabeth distraction tactic and asks her what she’s working on, nudging her to scooch over on the bed so he can sit next to her. Sure enough, within seconds she’s rambling about her book, waving her notes around for emphasis.
Most of it goes over his head - cornices and oculus windows and ionic order. But the monuments she describes, the ones she’s going to build one day - that, Percy wholeheartedly believes. This girl could move mountains if she set her mind on it. Why not redesign Olympus?
Percy listens fondly with his head in his hand.
Married to Annabeth, huh?
Yeah. He wouldn’t mind that at all.