Summary: Based on a fanart by isartsomedays. Percabeth and the season called fall.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians Series or the Heroes of Olympus series or the characters I borrowed.
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Annabeth likes fall the best, out of all the seasons the world goes through. She likes the way the leaves fall to the ground, beautiful even in their dying days. She likes the way that, for once, the leaves around her don't match Percy's eyes. They stand out that much more, something that's equally as devastating as it is uplifting.
The thing is, Annabeth's favorite moments are the moments like these. She loves kissing Percy—in fact, it may be one of her favorite activities, scrambling its way up the list to fall right under reading and fiddling with the laptop Daedalus gave her so long ago. However, she finds herself missing the simplicity of their friendship, and while their relationship comes easier to her than most things in life, the relaxed, unassuming moments are the ones that make her feel closer to him.
No passionate kiss or heated hands stretching across the small of her back could ever transcend the easy feeling of reading and resting in Percy's lap. No three words whispered with conviction or fond smiles could ever surmount the feeling of his hand tangled simply with hers while he holds tea with his other hand.
Percy's watching the leaves fall and Annabeth's reading—she promises that she's reading—but she can't help but to spare him quick glances. After years and years of pinched brows and tense shoulders, Annabeth can't help but find solace in the way Percy's eyes follow leaves falling to the ground. He's breathing deeply, idly running his thumb across the warm skin of her hand; his eyes are hooded from having woken up no more than twenty minutes ago.
He's soft and pliant; cozy and content. He catches her staring after a few minutes, and he offers up an affectionate grin as he holds her hand a little tighter for a moment. "Hey," Percy whispers, not wanting to interrupt the gentle atmosphere.
"Hi," Annabeth answers, just as softly, smiling back. "Love you."
Percy's smile doesn't widen or wane; it stays content and fond. "Love you, too." She watches him for a few seconds longer before looking back to her book. He stays silent as she reads, continuing to stroke her hand as if to say: hey, I'm here, I'm fine, just keep your pretty little eyes on that book.
She only reads a few more sentences before placing the book on the ground and abducting his tea, curling up closer so that her head can rest on his shoulder. Percy adjusts easily, like he always does; with everything and everyone, Percy finds a way to fit. He's constantly in fear that he's the odd one out, but Annabeth thinks it's that fear that makes him belong.
He's like the sweater she keeps, even if she only wears it on chilly Sunday mornings around the house. It's always there, just waiting for the moment someone needs it. Maybe it's a little worse for wear; faded and tattered along the hems, but it still warms you up.
Annabeth smiles, nuzzling Percy's shoulder tenderly and pushing his tea back into his hands. "You're my sweater," she says, laughing into the blue, long-sleeve shirt that slides off his frame.
"Am I?" Percy asks, sounding amused. Annabeth doesn't elaborate, instead nodding and watching the discolored leaves sway to the ground, as if they plan on making the most of their inevitable fall. Percy's arm wraps around her, his fingers dipping into her hipbone, and Annabeth thinks she'll want Percy to warm her up forever, even in the summer when it's much too hot for sweaters.
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FIN