A/N: Hello, hello. Those of you who saw my poll from a while ago know this was an option for my next multi-chap. It ended up middling out in the choices, and I decided I didn't want it to be a multi-chap anyways, sooo I present my one-shot version, a much more charming, nostalgic version than I had initially envisioned imho.

I also changed quite a bit about it. Instead of Percy turning into her neighbor and having a bunch of thirteen-year-old kids running around the suburbs like I'd initially planned, Frederick Chase sends her to Islamorada to visit Magnus with hopes that the lax, lowkey life of Florida will rub off on her. (Oh, and they're like nearly 18, so you may begin celebrating bc that means I can actually make them kiss and tell dirty jokes and stuff lmao. The sad part is I didn't change it because I actually cared about making them kiss and stuff—I'm perfectly fine with all that innocent, cute, hand-holding shit—but I honest to god could not stop swearing as I wrote xD Like I am so sorry, but it comes naturally, esp when I'm writing fiction, and I think I'm just not cut out for middle-schoolers. Like 11th grade is my minimum, and I kept increasing their age as I wrote lol).

I listened to 5sos' CALM like five million times while writing this, and I am nOT ok rn. Puberty has no business making them sound and look like gods, and I feel so attacked lmao. Anyways, hope you like this? It's haPPY I thInk.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't even own the humorous disclaimer I was going to put here so idk wtf you're expecting at this point.

If someone asked, Annabeth would probably say she likes her head attached to her shoulders and not decapitated, sprawled pathetically on her vinyl floors.

And it's probably because she likes her head where it should be that there are no lights in her room because of course germs are drawn to light.

And that's why she's sitting in the dark on an uncomfortably warm Sunday afternoon in summer vacation. Alone.

It's moments like these when she's sticky from the sweltering, thankfully dry heat of Silicon Valley when she wonders if she really should've had a ceiling fan installed, but then she remembers that, according to Electrical Safety Foundation International, more than 19,700 people a year are injured by ceiling fans that are improperly mounted or incorrectly sized, and yeah she's pretty sure she can install a goddamn ceiling fan without fatally, spontaneously dying—she's seventeen, and she's not stupid—but then she also remembers that her head does good things like keep her brain inside, thinking, impressing, and she's not really willing to take that chance.

And she also knows everyone in her neighborhood thinks she's a little crazy: George who lives down the street told her she should "live a little," even though he has most crackly smoker voice she's ever heard on a eighteen-year-old, so what the hell does he know; and Antoinette, Beatrice's grandmother, who goes to Friday Bingo Nights at the local pub puts her dentures back in every time she sees Annabeth, telling her she would have a boyfriend if she wasn't such a neat-freak; and her dad indianFrederick Chase reminds her that youth goes by quickly, and she should probably seize the day, even though he literally works like he's addicted to it, making him the world's biggest hypocrite; and everyone at her school likes to talk, not that she's listening anyways because she's too busy worrying; and even her cousin Magnus, however kind, thinks she's a little off her rocker, but she's also seen him eat falafel off the ground, so he can keep his opinion to himself; and also she doesn't really give a fuck what other people think.

Because Annabeth knows there are a million ways to die. There are the classics—car crashes, drowning, getting shot, falling off a cliff, accidental (or purposeful) stabbings, and then there are more "fun" variations—brain-eating lake amoeba, food reheated in plastic containers, scratched teflon pans, x-rays at the dentist's office, raw oysters, and so, so many more. That's why being careful is of utmost importance, even if it means she has to give up riding her bike down the street, hanging outside, and sugar-loaded milkshakes at the local diner.

She likes to tell herself she doesn't need the extra carbs anyways (most forms of exercise are extremely dangerous).

But then she's sitting in the dark at four in the afternoon, slowly melting like the wicked witch of the east, and, even if she likes to take pride in possessing more maturity in her little, pinky finger than teenagers her age contain in their entire bodies, she feels a little lonely, comforted only by the knowledge that she is as safe as she possibly can be.

Then the big hand on the radio-controlled clock on her wall hits 12, and it's already five o'clock, and she's sat here for an hour, worrying if she disinfected her door handle thirty minutes ago, or if she forget, and—

Annabeth thinks she could perhaps eat half a popsicle if it meant she wouldn't feel as shitty as she did now. The pink ones always look pretty anyways. She closes her eyes and thinks of popsicles, of maybe trying strawberry, and then she remembers she did indeed forget to sanitize the handle, and the spell is broken.

She fishes through her hoard of Clorox wipes and begins to clean, migrating from the handle to everything because if she's already cleaning, why not?

She doesn't notice when the big hand passes six.

…

Annabeth peeks over the edge of her screen-protected tablet, drawing her nose away from the CDC updates—she ritually checks them every morning while Frederick reads the morning newspaper, sipping on his coffee every couple of minutes.

But this morning is nothing like the calm she usually knows.

"You can't be serious."

Her dad smiles wearily, ruefully, and she feels momentarily guilty. "July begins next week, Annabeth," he says patiently. "You'll get to spend July 4th down there! It's fun," he assures her. "I loved my childhood."

Annabeth swallows noisily. She also fucking knows her dad never speaks with their relatives anymore, but she doesn't say anything. She also knows they always spend July 4th together, no matter what. Always. And it hurts.

"So what, you're just shipping me off to the middle of nowhere because…? I swear I just applied for three summer internships, and I can take care of myself, but for the love of god please, please don't send me there. It's hot, and it's… touristy, and there's a bunch of crazy people."

Frederick rolls his eyes. "They're not crazy."

She slams her palms down on the coffee table, and the brown liquid in his mug ripples across the surface. "Are you kidding me?" She's aware she's slightly screaming, and she probably sounds hysterical, but she is not about to start chilling with the fishermen. She can already imagine their overly tanned, seriously damaged skin which means skin cancer, obviously, and their sweaty faces, and their muddy palms, and just no. She likes Silicon Valley very much, thank you.

Annabeth's perfectly manicured nails tap against the glass screen, and she holds up the glowing page for her dad to see. "Florida accused of attacking girlfriend with banana, Florida couple 'trapped' in unlocked closet for two days, Florida man caught on camera licking a doorbell." She stares at the last article a little too long before ripping her eyes away and glaring down at her dad in exasperation.

He sighs, tipping his head to one side. "Look, kiddo. With my job promotion hanging on the line, I thought it would be good for you to destress. Islamorada is actually a big tourist destination, and it's beautiful and relaxed, and there's so much history down there. You'll love analyzing the downtown area."

Annabeth bites her lip, fighting a losing battle against her rapidly-expanding frustration. It balloons in the pit of her stomach, and it feels like she swallowed something wrong with the lump in her dry throat. "Don't pin this on your job," she spits acidly. "We both know this is so you can hang out with that new date of yours."

Her dad stares at her in silence, and her jaw twitches in irritation.

Alice Kim and her two perfect, amazing sons.

And Annabeth's just the product of a failed marriage, the imperfection in a soon-to-be flawless family, and now her dad's sending her away so she's not an embarrassment to the Chase family name. Annabeth has never missed her mom like she has now.

"Don't make this about her, Annabeth."

"Don't make this about her?" she explodes, uncurling her fists at her sides. She reaches up to massage her temples; it's much too early to be unraveling the deep-rooted fucked-up-ness of her family and her childhood. "It's always been about her, dad, or some other lady. It's always been about the fact that you could never keep a woman, and you grieved, and you were too busy coping, and you pushed me out of your life!"

Frederick's eyes are wide, and remorseful, and guilty, and apologetic—and she wants none of it.

"Whatever. I hope a shark swallows me." She feels a little melodramatic, but she's sick of her father claiming to be in love, only to get his heart broken, only to neglect her more than he already has her entire life. Athena left six years ago. But Annabeth's here now, and sometimes… sometimes it really doesn't feel like it. Annabeth grits her teeth together, daring her dad to say anything to assuage this situation. But he can't. Because he knows she's right.

Annabeth leaves her half-cold cup of tea on the counter and swiftly scoops up her tablet before storming into her room upstairs to pack. After all, she seethes, she only leaves in two days.

…

When Annabeth walks out of Miami Airport on July 1st, the first thing her uncle notices is her hair.

It's not exactly her fault she looks like an estranged version of Diana Ross; it's just the Florida humid heat. It clings to her skin like a wet blanket, and her hair is frizzy, and on the plane ride the man next to her would not stop snoring, and when her bizarre Uncle Frey cracks a smile, ready to make a joke, she just scowls at him.

Uncle Frey is a nice guy. She knows he's a nice guy. (Though, in all fairness, anyone's nice in comparison to Uncle Randolph). He has a lovely wife Natalie Chase, and their son is pretty cool too, but they're very… hipster-esque. Annabeth doesn't know how else to put it. All she knows is that her uncle really likes sage and some other botanical stuff, and Magnus' parents like to bond in the garden like starry-eyed, boho lovers. And it's weird. Natalie even kept her maiden name of Chase (which Annabeth totally understands), and Magnus just ended up getting his mother's name because she's the one who carried his heavy ass for nine months, and Frey Alfheim just thinks it's super funny.

"I haven't seen you since you were ten!" he exclaims, and he crushes her in a hug. His blue eyes twinkle with excitement. Oh and he has like shoulder-length hair and a carpenter's beard. It's certainly a change from Silicon Valley.

Annabeth reluctantly accepts the hug, but even she must admit her uncle is the warmest person alive, and in some ways it's a relief to the cold, awkward dynamic of her own family.

"Nine, actually," she gently corrects, but his smile doesn't falter in the slightest. Hers does, though. The last time they met up in good circumstances, they met in Boston at Uncle Randolph's house for the last Chase family annual June reunion. She had been eight. And then she saw them once more when she was nine at a funeral, and then there were no more family reunions after that.

Frey helps her with her bags for which she is incredibly thankful. Because she's staying until the end of August, until school starts, she's had to pack a shit ton of stuff, and that means weight. Annabeth's pretty strong, but two heavy suitcases and a backpack are enough to drown her.

They make their way to his car. It's a mojito Jeep Wrangler with an open top, and Annabeth has to roll her eyes. It's such a Frey car, and it's kind of funny in all honesty.

"Something funny?" The corner of Frey's mouth curves up in amusement, and Annabeth doesn't resent her dad any less for sending her here, but by god she's missed these people.

She hides a smile. "Nice car," she says instead, and Frey laughs.

"Welcome to the south, kiddo," says Frey, and it sounds so much like her dad before the incident that it hurts.

She carefully hugs her backpack to her chest despite Frey's persuasions for her to put it in the back with the rest of her bags. The open top is dangerous too; she swallows her anxiety.

The wind blows in her hair as they drive, a welcome change from the sticky heat, and she watches the colorful, summer-y buildings of downtown Islamorada pass them by. The view is gorgeous as they coast down the cracked roads: the water sparkles in the sunlight like it's sweating, glistening, cool in the hot Florida air, and it's bluer than anything she's seen in a long time. She's forgotten how beautiful, how vacation-esque this peaceful village is. Civilians entertain themselves with watersports, and they drive past the shorelines, passing laughing people in wetsuits. Big, white boats sit near the docks, still in the mildly lapping water. She watches with mild fascination as a middle-aged woman rides a wave like it's an extension of her limbs, a home away from home.

Annabeth's not even thinking about the vile sea creatures, the dangers of surfing, only awestruck with her easy grace. Besides, she already put on sunblock before coming out of the airport; she's safe for at least two hours.

She people-watches and inspects the charming architecture of Florida. Everyone here is tan, and many people's hair have lightened to blond highlights. They sip of alcoholic, fruity mixed drinks, laughing, and she feels nostalgia for a childhood she's long forgotten.

She already did her research before coming, especially now that she's old enough to appreciate it fully. Islamorada's known for its spectacular coral reefs, and they have a Theater of the Sea with dolphin encounters. Obviously, she checked out the museums too. Exhibits at the History of Diving Museum include a 16th-century treasure, and she fully intends to check it out sometime during her stay. Windley Key Fossil Reef Geological State Park is a former quarry; Lignumvitae Key Botanical State Park has tropical forests; Indian Key Historic State Park is a tiny island with 1800s ruins, and that includes shipwrecks. So maybe she is coming around to the idea after all, not that she'd ever admit that to Frederick.

"You've paled, kid," Frey says, trying to make conversation.

She offers a wan smile. "Yes, well. UV rays and all that."

"You live in California."

"I'm more an indoors person," she explains, and she jumps when her uncle chuckles. "Don't laugh at me!"

He grins sheepishly. "I can't help it, Beth. You've just changed so much since I've seen you."

"Well, it's been seven years. People change in seven years."

A slight frown mars his usually serene expression. "I suppose." He pauses. "We've missed you," he adds with hesitation, eyeing her out indirectly through the car mirrors to gauge her reaction.

She swallows a lump in her throat, looking out at the sandy beaches. All she can think about are crabs, and her irrational fear of spiders, and how much crabs resemble spiders. All she can think about is herself, nine years old and wide-eyed, unable to comprehend, but old enough to know when her life is falling apart around her. Old enough to know she needed, craved a family's love so deep the ocean would be jealous.

"How's Fred?"

"He's the same as always," she mutters.

"Still?"

Annabeth regards Frey coldly. "Some things never change." She purses her lips. "And some people do." She's thinking of her mom, of how she just walked out of her life without another thought forever, the emotions crashing into her like the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

She had thought the water was beautiful, blinded by the shimmery surface, but she had also forgotten the nature of the sea. She is not foolish enough to believe there is no danger because the water is calm now. She knows storms can come out of nowhere, and she also knows waves are not measured in units—not feet, or inches, or meters, or whatever the hell else someone would use to measure the monstrous tides.

Frey doesn't say anything else as they drive to their house, silenced by Annabeth's truth.

Waves are measured in levels of fear, and if basking in her fear will keep her safe, then she has never been more willing to stay ashore.

…

"Annabeth!" Magnus is the spitting image of his father. He doesn't have a beard, obviously, and his hair is a tad shorter, reaching the bottom of his jaw and falling into his grey eyes, and it's the vibrant, trademark Chase buttery blond. He's seventeen now, and he's finally taller than her, and she's turning seventeen in eleven days, and she still remembers when they were little, and all of the cousins would conglomerate underneath the dining table at the family reunions, just talking.

He crushes her in a hug, and she doesn't care where he's been because she's just missed him so much. She closes her eyes, inhaling the scent of his coffee-colored shirt, and he resembles herbs and the Earth, just like his parents, and he's practically a brother—but he never will be. Annabeth pulls away.

Magnus grins at her. It's clear summer agrees with him, and his hair is damp like he just showered.

"Hi," he says like he saw her last week or something, and something like relief melts away the lingering voice in her head.

"'Sup, yourself, you giant," she teases, forcing confidence, and she ruffles his hair, and he scowls, and it feels like the old days.

"How are you liking the weather?" he laughs, pointedly looking at her hair, and she shoves him away playfully. He helps drag her stuff through the skinny screen door, and they're both sweating from the effort, but she doesn't mind so much.

They collapse at the kitchen counter, and Malcolm offers her some lemonade which she gratefully accepts.

"Where's your mom?" They sit inside the guest bedroom—her bedroom now—and peer out the open windows. There's a ceiling fan going above them, but she bites her tongue to keep from protesting. Magnus would never let anything happen to her, right?

"Gardening." Malcolm juts his chin toward the backyard. Annabeth curiously peeks past the thin, angel white curtains, and sure enough Natalie is squatting over coreopsis flowers. There's a big, wide-brimmed hat sitting on her pixie haircut, and it casts a shadow across her face, protecting her from the sun. Smart woman. She looks like a fairy, her green eyes bright and young, and she looks so much like Frederick that Annabeth feels at home, even in this home she never meant to visit. A lemon tree hangs off to Natalie's left, the branches bowing low to the ground with the heavy fruit.

Annabeth watches as Frey enters the garden, and Natalie stands up, grinning from ear to ear, and Annabeth feels that dull, familiar longing for something more, for a family that actually talks to one another, for a bond like the one Magnus has with his parents.

"You want to shower first, or do you want to hit downtown first?" Magnus stands up, taking her empty glass from her.

"Downtown?"

"It's almost two. The fishermen will be back soon, and I like getting first pick."

"We're having fish?"

"Annabeth, when do we not have fish?" Malcolm half-smiles, and she relaxes. He has that power over her, over the whole world it seems. "C'mon, you haven't seen the market since you were little."

She rolls her eyes, a muscle in her cheek twitching. His excitement is contagious. "I'll shower after you coat me with disgusting fish germs," she says, already redoing her hair to get rid of the hideous, frizzy mess.

He laughs. "Fresh fish smells like clean water, idiot. It's that frozen shit that's gross."

"You're gross."

He offers nothing more than a wry grin. "Asshole."

…

"In hindsight, I didn't think it'd be that small."

They stare at the tiny red bike in front of them like it holds all the answers to life. There's a Green Power Ranger sticker on near the rusty chain, and a National Geographic pouch attached to the back wire, and a Nemo horn.

"I still can't believe you're making us go by bike."

"Everyone bikes or walks. It's not that far."

"Then let's walk," Annabeth argues. "You said it yourself. It's for single-digit kids, Magnus, not teenagers."

He frowns. "No way. Walking will take longer, and I need a basket to carry the goods. You can use Mom's." He pulls out a seafoam, tall bike with a white wicker basket in the front. It looks like the stereotypical, aesthetic bike littered across Snapchats coming from Venice, Italy, and the Caribbean, and the coastline of California.

The seat is dusty, though, and there is no way in hell she's getting on it.

"Hell no."

"The tires are still inflated! You're not going to die, Annabeth." And then he freezes at his poor choice of words.

Annabeth's mouth goes sour. "There could be spiders on it!"

"There aren't spiders on it."

"Over 800 cyclists die per year." She stares icily at him.

"Over 7 billion people live on this Earth."

"Shut the fuck up. I'm not getting on that death trap."

"It's not a motorcycle! You can, you know, control it."

"We're walking," she declares, and that's that. Magnus had never been able to out-argue her, even growing up. "And I'm taking an umbrella."

"No umbrella. Umbrellas are only when it's raining, and I refuse to walk next to a stuck-up old lady, using a goddamn umbrella because of the sun. Final offer."

She scowls. "You're going to fuck up your skin."

"I prefer my skin charred," he snips. "Like roasted pineapples."

"You're so fucking weird—"

He shoves her out the garage door, and she finally acquiesces, following him, but not until she's reapplied sunscreen and (forcefully) applied it to Magnus as well.

"You shouldn't worry so much. Have I ever let you get hurt before?"

She tries to relax her forehead to not give her away, but her forehead creases on its own, stuck in shades of incessant worry. "No," she murmurs, albeit petulantly.

"Well, then."

She crosses her arms over her chest as they go, Magnus' flip flops obnoxiously slapping against the cement sidewalks. Everyone keeps telling her not to worry so much, that she's just fine.

But they thought her brother, Malcolm, was just fine too, and Malcolm died.

…

"That is disgusting."

"City girl," Magnus snorts derisively.

"Excuse me for not burying my hands in fish—I swear to god I will break your fucking jaw!" Annabeth hastily backs away as her cousin waves handfuls of Mahi, Yellowtail Snappers, Blackfin Tuna, and Amberjacks. He laughs hysterically, the psycho.

"You see this, the gills are blood red, just how you want them."

"Magnus!" She reels in disgust. She does not want to be closer to a dead fish's face than she would be to a human.

"Touch one," he dares, grinning like a madman.

"I will beat you with your own fish."

"You can't even touch it. Wuss."

"Don't test me, motherfucker." But she's smiling, in a better mood than she's experienced in… in at least a couple years. It's a sobering realization. "In my defense, their eyes are staring into my soul."

"What soul?" he mocks, snorting, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

A fisherman heaves fat nets onto shore as people clamor about, quickly buying the fresh goods.

"I'm going to see if I can't find some oysters," says Magnus, balancing on his tip-toes to scan over the crowd of people. "Do me a favor, Beth. You see that?" He points to a small, run-down shop on the corner of the street. "Can you get some butter before I forget? We'll need it for dinner tonight." He fishes in his pocket for a five dollar bill, handing it to her haphazardly. He's occupied, trying not to drop the fish as he dumps it into a cloth bag he brought with him.

"What kind?"

He blinks. "I dunno, man. Just butter."

She bites the inside of her cheek, unnerved by lack of direction, and before she can ask anything else like how many or salted or unsalted, Magnus' eyes light up. She can only assume he spotted the oysters as he runs off, leaving her stranded and conflicted.

Warily she approaches the store. It's tiny like it's family owned or something, and the steps are littered with sand. Stepping over the piles of grains, she enters the shop.

In the entrance, there are two large glass cases, halfway filled with frozen drinks, ice cream, and popsicles. Ice freezes in tips on the top of the containers and the sides of the freezer. There are shelves stocked with candy, and that's it, and then she spots a dairy section at the other end of the layout. She opens the fridge door, picking out some organic-looking Irish butter. Then she grabs another one, thinking better of it. Magnus didn't tell her how much.

There is nobody else here; at least, that's what she thinks until a butch girl with stringy, brown hair and a red bandana wrapped around her forehead pops up in front of her face, nearly giving her a heart attack.

"You should buy our new keychains," she grunts, gritting her teeth. "Great for kids. Little siblings." She eyes Annabeth's sides like a little kid's going to appear from thin air.

Annabeth blinks. Laughter ensues from further in the store. She takes a few steps to her left to see the checkout counter.

A teenage boy with curly brown hair, freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and wide, warm brown eyes looks at her with sympathy. He's kind of short, standing behind the counter, and he has bad acne, and he's wearing cargo shorts and a bright blue tourist t-shirt that says Welcome to Islamorada! enthusiastically in canary yellow. She cringes. It's probably nothing short of humiliating to model the shirt in the shop's window all day. She can only assume he works here.

Then her eyes land on the source of amusement. Draped lazily across the counter from the customer side is another boy. He's lean, athletic, and gloriously golden with a natural tan. He displays his pearly white, neat teeth in a crooked, trouble-maker smile, and he's drinking something, sitting across from the brunet in a tall chair he's undoubtedly pulled up to the counter. He has unruly black hair that falls a little into his eyes, and it's a disgrace to humanity, and at first Annabeth thinks he's just messy, but at closer inspection it seems that's just the way he is—laid back and… charming. Most unique, however, are his eyes. They're a dazzling sea-green, the very shade of the cool water outside, and if she looks enough, she almost drowns in them like one would in the water. They seem to swirl like mini-waves, and she's never seen anything like it. He's sporting Magnus' choice of footwear—impractical dark flip-flops, clean white board shorts (which are much better thank those god-awful cargos), and a dark, forest-green t-shirt. AHS Swim Team curves across the cotton.

Annabeth feels her cheeks heating up from both the heat wave that hits her and the eyes of three people staring her down.

"You've really got to learn to pick your victims better before harassing them, Clarisse," he drawls, glancing between the brawny, tall girl and Annabeth. He smirks at Annabeth with thinly veiled amusement, and the blonde feels her heart palpitating wildly in her chest. She kind of wants to smack the smug look off his face, even if she doesn't know what it's for.

"Shut your trap, Jackson," Clarisse, Annabeth's deduced, snaps, moodily stomping behind the counter. The boy with curly hair is also wearing a nametag with Grover scrawled messily on the card. He backs away out of reflex, and Annabeth can tell the Clarisse girl intimidates him, at least a little.

Jackson laughs at Clarisse's sour mood. He sips at his drink—a vivid pink hue swirling in the cup. "She's not even close to a tourist. Look at her."

All three heads turn to her again, scouring every inch of her body, making her feel stupidly self-conscious. Annabeth awkwardly shifts her weight onto her other leg.

"How am I not a tourist?" she finds her voice, tilting her chin up. She's not, of course, but what could possibly give her away? She obviously doesn't belong here. Annabeth slides the butter onto the counter, and Grover rings her up. She quickly counts the change, holding it awkwardly; women's wear never has fucking pockets.

"Well, you're not very smiley," Grover meekly points out, watching with mild fascination at how efficiently she counts her money.

Annabeth scoffs at his audacity. She doesn't think he means any harm by it, but you still shouldn't just say that to customers. "It's called a resting bitch face," she says coolly before she can stop herself, and Grover draws back, the tips of his ears turning red. "And it's not like you guys are particularly inviting either," she says, pointedly glancing at Clarisse.

"Told you you should smile," Jackson gloats, and Clarisse reluctantly hands him a crumpled five-dollar bill which he pockets.

"Sorry," Grover mumbles. "I didn't mean to offend you."

She sniffs indifferently, unperturbed. "Whatever."

"I actually just saw you with Magnus," Jackson reveals, halting her before she leaves with his words. "You guys have similar features." He shrugs one shoulder. "I can only assume you're the cousin he mentioned was coming."

"You know him?" Annabeth can't disguise her surprise. Her eyebrows shoot up and she waits expectantly.

"Know him? I sell him fish all the time." Jackson rolls his eyes. "Nice family." He eyes her suspiciously. "You're not what I was expecting, though, based on the way he described you."

Annabeth stiffens. "Well, this town isn't exactly what I was expecting earlier. It's… small."

"California," Clarisse realizes, laughing. "Do you really drink green smoothies every morning?"

Jackson frowns at Clarisse critically, and she shuts up. Jackson, Annabeth realizes, is the only one who can control her.

"You sell fish? Why aren't you out there?" Annabeth gestures vaguely behind her to the door.

Jackson obnoxiously scrapes his chair backwards, causing the wood on cracked tile to shriek, echoing throughout the quaint store. Annabeth grimaces at the sound. "My dad is. I'm just a fisherman's son, Chase."

Grover chuckles nervously. "Percy's just being modest. He's the best fisherman and the best sailor of our generation. He won the annual yacht race when he was eleven."

Jackson shoots Grover a withering glare, and Annabeth blinks, soaking in the information like a sponge.

"Percy?" She tests his name on her tongue and finds she quite likes the way it tastes. It suits him a lot more than 'Jackson.'

"Percy Jackson," he clarifies, correctly detecting her confusion.

"Oh. Well, I'm Annabeth."

"I know."

She feels warm again when he half-laughs, like he can't quite commit to the amusement, but he still finds her funny. Of course he knows. Magnus probably told him everything.

"I'd better get going," she says instead, interrupting whatever the hell this is. She doesn't really know what to make of any of them.

"So soon?" Grover says, surprisingly wistful.

"I—Magnus is probably waiting for me." She sounds apologetic, but she can't be more relieved. There's something unsettling about all of them, and she doesn't quite fit in, and she'd like to go back to comfortable territory with her uncle and her aunt and her cousin and nobody else.

Grover shrugs, smiling sadly. "It's just been a slow day. There'll be more customers later once we begin frying fish, but I'm bored."

"And new people are always intriguing," Percy says, eyeing her curiously. "When they're not ditzy tourists, that is."

She can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not. Percy's odd, she decides. They all are.

The butter's softening in the heat. "It was nice meeting you all," she tries, and she holds the dairy close to her chest so she doesn't drop it.

"Sure," Percy agrees, but his voice is a little off. He frowns into his drink, looking down at the counter.

"See you around, Annabeth!" Grover calls after her as she makes her way for the door.

She sincerely prays she'll never have to see any of them again. She already gawked at Percy long enough for it to be awkward, snipped at Grover (though he was way out of line), and caused Clarisse to lose money somehow.

Grover bleat-laughs at something Percy says as she leaves, and she can't fight the nagging feeling that they're talking about her and her nerve, even if it's irrational, as she leaves.

Annabeth's acutely aware of Percy's eyes following her figure as she slips out into the Florida sun once more.

…

"What took you so long?" Magnus grimaces. Beads of perspiration pool at his hairline, and Annabeth feels slightly guilty.

"I got lost," she lies lamely.

Magnus shoots her a look. "I was literally standing outside the store. There's no way you didn't see me."

She sighs in resignation. "Fine. The weird kids in that store were talking to me."

His demeanor shifts entirely. "Is Percy in there?"

"Why?"

"I wanted to ask him when more shrimp's coming in. C'mon, let's—"

"Can't we just go back?" Annabeth desperately asks.

"What?"

"It's hot," Annabeth mutters. She can't bear to see Percy again, especially not so soon after their cringy interaction. "And the butter's starting to melt, and my sunscreen's going to wear off."

"I guess," Magnus relents, a proper host despite himself. He looks at her oddly before ushering her down the sidewalk. They cling to the sides, relishing the stores' visors as they go, their shadows long and alien in the sunlight.

…

They sit outside for dinner, freshly grilled, buttery seafood laid out in front of them. It's cooler now with the sun set but still warm.

Annabeth smells like mosquito repellant. It's not like she wants to douse herself with it, but she doesn't want to get a disease, and if that means coating herself in it twice, then so be it.

"You should take Annabeth to the beach," Frey tells his son, picking up another oyster from the bowl in the center. Annabeth honestly can't remember the last time she sat down with her dad and ate dinner together.

"Oh… that's okay, really," Annabeth tries, her eyes darting in between Magnus and her uncle.

"Nonsense. Magnus is going surfing tomorrow morning with his friends, right?"

Magnus bobs his head in agreement, but he's more preoccupied with the Mahi in front of him, and his mouth's stuffed, too busy to say anything. She thinks Magnus might be food-sexual.

"No, really," says Annabeth again. "I really don't want to." She can feel her palms becoming clammy and sweaty, and this time it's not from the heat. It's not that she's afraid of water; she just doesn't like it.

Natalie glances up at Annabeth, her expression gentle. "Magnus is a good swimmer," she assures her niece.

"I have no doubt he is."

Magnus glances up, mid-chew, as if he's finally realized they're discussing him. He swallows hastily, nearly choking as he coughs, and then hastily takes a gulp of water. And that's exactly why Annabeth chews twenty times, counting it out in her head, before swallowing. She's not trying to get something lodged in her throat and die.

"They always have lifeguards," Magnus says calmly.

Annabeth frowns. They're just all dancing around the subject, and just because they don't say it out loud doesn't make it any less true.

"That's not my point."

"You can't come to Florida and not enjoy the water," Frey insists. "And you know how to surf. You surfed so well when you were a kid!"

"Well, I was younger then. I haven't surfed in at least nine years, and we have water in California, and surfers too I assure you." She's mildly aware her hands are trembling. She doesn't want to talk about this. She just wants them to let it go and let her wallow in her guilt. "Besides, I was planning on visiting the Botanical State Park tomorrow."

"You have all summer to visit the park," Frey reasons. His eyes shine with sympathy and understanding and pity, and Annabeth hates it. She refrains from saying something she'll regret later. He thinks he knows her, thinks she's still the same delusional little girl she once was, but she's different now. She's grown up, and she knows why she refrains from certain activities, and she doesn't need him or anyone else for that matter trying to push her into something she doesn't want to do. He doesn't know what's best for her, and he can't fix this. He can't change history. He can't bring Malcolm back.

"I have all summer to surf." Annabeth narrows her eyes at him across the table, setting down her fork.

Natalie and Magnus watch with wide eyes as she and her uncle square off, their exterior hardening defensively. It looks like a pissing contest, in all honesty.

"The park is great," Magnus agrees softly, gently leaning towards Annabeth. She appreciates his support, she really does, but she can do this by herself. Natalie reaches an arm out and gently touches Frey's forearm as if to restrain him, to silently castigate him.

Annabeth's eyes don't leave Frey's, though. Her uncle's an easy-going dude, but this just isn't his place, and the sooner she establishes it, the sooner everyone will leave her the hell alone.

"Magnus can help reteach you surfing," Frey dares to say.

Annabeth grits her teeth. "I still remember how."

"Excellent, so it's a non-issue then."

"Frey…" Natalie warns softly.

"No, Natalie. She has to overcome this."

"Dad, stop. Let her be." Malcolm shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Annabeth's fists ball up uncomfortably.

"That's not your decision to make," Annabeth says harshly, schooling her expression and glaring daggers at her uncle.

"What would Frederick say if I called him? He told me to try and help you explore the best parts of Florida. The water is inevitably the greatest attraction."

"It's not my father's decision either," Annabeth hisses. "No matter what he thinks, I don't actually blindly follow his every whim."

"Annabeth, you don't have to go in the water." Natalie tries to find a happy medium, but Annabeth's an all or nothing kind of girl, and she won't be swayed so easily, especially not after her uncle's irritating insistence.

"I'm not going, and that's final."

Frey scowls at her.

"Call my dad, go ahead," she challenges, and there's a glint of competition in her eyes; she's on fucking fire, and she pities anyone who dares cross her when she's in her element. Annabeth casually laces her fingers together, resting her chin on her folded hands.

Frey doesn't move a muscle.

"That's what I thought." She can't fight the tinge of superiority in her voice. They can think she's a bitch if they want, but it's just a social construct to oppress opinionated women, and she will not bow to anyone, not here, not now, not ever.

"Malcolm would want you to be happy," Frey whispers, and Annabeth stands, glaring daggers at him.

"Dad!" Magnus stands too, infuriated.

"You don't know shit about Malcolm," Annabeth curses, and it feels good. She wants to throw it onto a banner, and wave it about for the world to see, for her dad, for her nosy relatives, for everyone who thinks they know her.

Frey's mouth falls open, and Natalie glares at her husband. Soon they're all standing around the wooden table, the atmosphere tense and overly-warm.

"Malcolm died, plain and simple," Annabeth explodes, and it hurts so fiercely. She claws down the tears threatening to surface, choking over the emotion in her voice.

"Annabeth." Malcolm's voice is shaky and raw, and Annabeth can't even bear to look at him because she knows if she does she will cry, and she refuses to break in front of her aunt and uncle.

"He drowned in the fucking water when he was only eleven, and there was a lifeguard, and people were there, and nobody could fucking save him. He was eleven; he didn't deserve that shit! He had his whole life ahead of him, and there is no going back on what's done. I don't have a brother anymore, and that's just how it is." The words feel heavier on her tongue than she could have ever anticipated.

Natalie's tearing up, probably thinking of her late nephew. Annabeth doesn't look at her. She knows she's the reason she's crying, and she loves her aunt, she really does, and she can't handle it right now.

"I'm only here because Frederick forced me to be, or I'd still be back home with my friends, and my room, and my internship, and my boss. If I'm going to be here, I'm doing everything on my own terms, do you understand me? Or I'm flying straight back to California, and you can explain to my father why I'm back so soon, Uncle. If I said I'm not going by the water, then I'm not, and that's final. Don't you dare tell me what I must or mustn't do. Have I made myself clear?"

Annabeth still remembers sitting by his side, watching as they tried to revive him, bawling her eyes out, afraid, and then she remembers the light dying from his eyes. She sees him all the time, smiling, laughing in her dreams. She sees his face, young, and his toothy smile everywhere she goes. And she knows that face will never age.

Frey falls quiet. "I'm sorry for overstepping my bounds."

She doesn't acknowledge his apology, simply brushing her hands off and taking her plate inside and carelessly putting it in the sink. Magnus and the sound of his parents arguing follow her into the house, and Magnus slams the patio door shut, blocking out the sound.

"I'm really sorry, Annabeth. I didn't know he'd say that shit, I—"

Annabeth holds up a quivering palm, silently begging him to stop. She slouches over the counter, bending at the waist, and resisting the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

Magnus obediently falls quiet.

Annabeth rakes her fingernails through her hair, relishing the pain that comes with it; it's a painful reminder she's still alive when others aren't. She desperately misses the busyness that comes with Silicon Valley. When the world moves around her so quickly, it's easy to go with the current, lost in cultural and scientific earth-shattering breakthroughs, and in the people who move around her, protecting her with their hustle and bustle way of life. She can step back and be part of a people, and feel surrounded instead of dwelling in the loneliness that crawls up her hollow chest when it's dark out; she can be one in a million, nobody important, a faceless figure of society.

Here in the sleepy, little coast of Islamorada, she stands out. People look at her, and she can feel them undressing all her darkest secrets, laying them out bare next to their tall plates of seafood to devour. They have more time on their hands, and they leave her to torture herself mentally over and over and over and over again, and they inspect her critically, tearing her facade to bits, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. It hurts tenfold under the public eye. It doesn't help that she's shiny and new, and in a place where everyone knows everyone, she sticks out like a sore thumb.

She needs something to do, something to keep her busy, something to keep her mind off all she's lost through the years, and all she's turned her cheek to.

Magnus knows her better than even her dad, even if he hasn't seen her in years. It's like he has an uncanny ability to sense what people are feeling. "Hey, I forgot to get milk this afternoon."

That's a lie. She stills anyways, listening.

"Do you want to maybe go and get it?"

"Alone?" she whispers.

"If you want, but I can come if you want me to," he offers, his voice gentle. He keeps a safe distance from her, but instead of keeping a gap like he's afraid she'll murder him like most people do, she feels he's doing it because he knows she wants space, and she's grateful.

"I can go alone." She tries to swallow the anxiety that comes with the danger of getting lost or something, but she has her phone if she needs it. She just really doesn't want to be around people right now.

"If you get chocolate sauce too, maybe we can make chocolate milk and watch some TV?" He's unsure.

She forces a tiny smile, and it feels so fake that she hates herself for it. "That sounds great. Is the corner shop still open down by the market?"

"Yeah. There's closer stores, but I don't want you to get lost, so… so maybe it's best if you just go there."

"Yeah, okay," she mumbles. She'll be grateful for the walk and the space to think. "Thanks," she adds as an afterthought, and Magnus grimaces.

"I'm coming after you, though, if you aren't back in an hour."

"Mhm," she dismisses his concern, pocketing her phone and reaching for her canvas shoes. She shakes them out for scorpions like Natalie used to remind her to do when she was younger and happier, and then she's out the door before Magnus can send her into a fresh round of tears.

…

Alone, she can't help the tears from pooling in the wells of her tear ducts as she walks, pulling a light hoodie over her head. It's cold down here when night falls, what with the water so close by, and her bare legs are freezing in shorts, but changing meant staying longer in that house with arguing adults—a memory that hits too close to home—and a sympathetic cousin who means well, too well, and makes her want to erupt in ugly sobs, not the cute sniffles of cartoon characters.

Annabeth's memory is impeccable, and she finds her footing quickly. She recognizes the downtown area, and it looks so different at nighttime, nostalgic almost. There are the typical diner lights flashing about, and the liquor store is deserted across the street.

She turns a corner, and the scrawny shop is still there at the very end of the street. She pushes the glass door open, the tacky bell jangling above her.

There's a redhead in overalls standing behind the counter now. She has frizzy, red hair, and Annabeth totally gets the struggle of humidity mixed with curls. They share a look of understanding, and Annabeth is relieved none of the people from this afternoon are here to hassle her.

"Hi," she grins at the blonde. "Can I help you?" If she notices the slight, lingering puffiness around Annabeth's eyes, she doesn't say anything.

"Oh no, I'm sure I can find it myself," Annabeth politely turns her down, making a beeline for the milk. She grabs plain milk, searching for chocolate sauce as she scans the sparing aisles.

"Hey, Rachel, do you have any bandaids…?" a familiar voice falters as it trails off, and Annabeth looks up, a package of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in her teeth, half a gallon of milk in her left hand, and a bottle of Hershey's chocolate sauce in her right.

She stares at him wide-eyed, very much aware she looks ridiculous, and also very much aware of his bloody hands.

"What happened to you?" Percy gapes at her red-rimmed eyes.

Annabeth puts down the candy package on the counter as elegantly as one can using just their mouth. She sets the jug of milk down too, and it rattles against the table. Rachel, she deduces, springs into action, bandaging up Percy's hands like an expert.

"I could ask you the same thing," Annabeth says, her voice tight.

Percy's at a loss for words. "I don't look like I just cried out Niagara Falls."

"And I don't look like I murdered a man," she shoots back, and his lips twitch, but there's concern lingering on his face.

"Seriously, though." He looks away from Rachel's skillful touch, glancing up at her.

Rachel rings her up next, and Annabeth is grateful when she offers her a bag. She's not sure she can keep that candy package in between her teeth the entire walk home, and she now knows why Magnus always takes a sack with him when he comes to the shops.

"I'm serious too," says Annabeth, deflecting the hint of worry in his voice like an expert.

"I asked first."

Rachel awkwardly watches them go back and forth before Annabeth bends. "I need to go," she says instead, heading to the door, but Percy only follows her, much to her surprise.

"Why is that, exactly?" Percy ponders aloud as they stroll down the sidewalk, and he must have the warmest blood in the world because he's still in shorts and a t-shirt, and he's not shivering at all. Annabeth has cold blood even in a sweatshirt. "You always seem to be running around, having somewhere you need to be. Is that a California thing?" he teases.

She doesn't say anything, hoping he'll leave her alone if she ignores him enough.

"I'm only kidding," he says, thoughtful. "I was born in New York. Hustling's kind of our middle name."

Now she looks up at him in surprise. She never would've pegged him for a city boy, not with the ease he carries himself around Florida.

"I actually kind of hate Florida. Much too hot."

No wonder he doesn't feel cold. She can only shudder at the idea of northern winters.

"When did you move here?" she finds herself asking. Sue her for being curious.

"When I was seven," Percy tells her. He waits for cars before crossing the road, and she's comfortable with his long strides. He's only a couple inches taller than her anyways.

"No kidding?"

"Mhm. My parents are divorced, and my dad moved down here a long time ago, and my mom lives in Long Island."

"If you hate it so much, why don't you go back?" That explains it then. Long Island has plenty of fishing culture too, and it's home to some of the nastiest Great Whites, seeing as that's where they birth their pups.

"Trying to get rid of me?" He grins, but it's hollow, and she shrinks back, suddenly afraid. But he relaxes again. She doesn't even question how he knows the way to Magnus' house, assuming he just knows everything about this place. "My mom died when I was seven," he explains coolly, and his voice hardens, and she breathes out a sigh of relief because he's also raised by one parent.

"I'm sorry." His blunt honesty winds her, and Annabeth feels a lump growing in her throat.

"Me too." He shoves his hands into his pockets, and Annabeth doesn't miss the way he winces.

"Your hands hurt that bad?" she guesses, sympathetic.

He barely nods. "Well, that usually happens when a shark tries to bite your hands off."

Her eyes go wide with fear, her mouth hanging open in horror, and Percy's solemn facade cracks when he sees her face, and he laughs boyishly. It resonates in the dark, making her feel warm inside.

"I'm only kidding," he assures her, and she frowns. She doesn't like to be made fun of. "We do have sharks, but they're mostly harmless."

"Mostly?"

He cheekily grins, and this time she doesn't feel as uneasy, almost like she's warming up to him or something. Disgusting. "Mostly," he agrees. "I mean if you provoke an animal, obviously it won't be harmless, but people are dumbasses."

That, at least, she can agree with. "Tell me about it," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "So what actually happened, wonder-boy?"

"I cut my hand on some sharp rock when docking a sailboat. It's no big deal."

"Oh."

"I was running from a particularly feisty man-eating mako shark, though, that wanted to bite my head off."

"Fuck off," she groans at his relentless teasing, and he smiles at the ground.

"So who broke up with you?" he mocks, and she resists the urge to smack him. He's a cheeky bastard, and someone needs to put him in his place.

"Nobody," Annabeth huffs, and he smirks at her blatant irritation. "Also, that's been used a million times. No, I don't have a boyfriend," she says dryly. "Satisfied?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" he inquires.

"Percy!" And this time she does shove him, and he dramatically stumbles, milking it and making a big show out of it.

"Relax," he laughs. "I wasn't even really asking if you had a boyfriend anyways."

"Sure." She doesn't believe him at all.

"But I'm not saying I don't find the information intriguing," he adds, confirming her accusations. Mirth dances in his eyes, and she can't fight the smile on her face. "But really, what happened?"

"Dumb uncles," she says as if that's a total explanation.

"No fair," he says at her evasive answer. "I told you about my dumbness with the rocks."

"Percy Jackson versus the rocks, the sequel," Annabeth sardonically narrates, and she follows him around the bend of the sidewalk. "Who will he fight next?"

"You, probably, since you're so adamant not to give straightforward answers."

She resists giving him the satisfaction of laughter and bites her tongue. But there's something about him, something open, warm, genuine that makes her want to tell him something, even if she'll definitely spare him the harrowing bullshit of her past.

"I didn't want to go surfing tomorrow morning, and my uncle was very much in opposition to that. Cue argument, cue harsh words, cue dreary memories, cue tears," she briefly summarizes.

"Ah, the old emotional tug, I see." Percy nods.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"Not a clue. Why wouldn't you want to go surfing?"

She tenses; it's still a touchy subject. "Not a fan of water."

He laughs. "And you're in the Florida Keys? I've got to give it to you, Annabeth, you really know how to give irony a run for her money."

"I prefer to mess with fate," she says instead, ignoring the dark implications behind her words, but Percy thankfully doesn't ask.

"A witch?" he guesses. "Hermione Granger's long lost sister?"

She's surprised he even brings Harry Potter up. Half the people around her think books are stupid, and they'd only recognize that name from the movies.

"I would've never pegged you for a nerd."

"I'm not," Percy promises. "My mom was, though."

"I see. I think I like her a lot more than you then."

He clicks his tongue distastefully. "Already out to antagonize me, I see."

Annabeth shrugs. "Don't take it personally."

"You antagonize everyone?"

"Something like that," she mumbles, noncommittal.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not really."

"That's okay. Neither am I."

She scoffs.

"Hey, it'd be super awkward if I wasn't carrying this entire conversation."

"You didn't have to walk me back."

"Who said I was walking you back? Who's to say I'm not going this way for my own purposes."

She stares at him pointedly.

"Fine, but my house is only a little ways away from here, so it's not entirely, inconveniently for you."

"Mhm," she says, and they both know she doesn't believe him at all, and he laughs. "This is me," Annabeth finally says, looking up at the lit-up blue-shuttered house beyond the thick of trees and bushes. It's white and lovely, and it's exactly the type of house she imagines would be on the front of a magazine to appeal to the tourists during the summer.

"It is," Percy agrees softly. "I guess I'll see you around?" he half-asks, hope tingeing the charismatic tone of his voice. "Though not at the beach, I've learned."

She bites her lip to hide a smile, and it's not her fault this time, okay? He's just—he's a dork, clearly, but it's somewhat welcoming right now. "Maybe," she agrees, and she walks into the house, forcing herself not to look back, no matter how much she wants to. And she lasts too… until she goes to close the door, and then she just can't help herself. She peeks behind her one last time, and he's still there, standing on the sidewalk, watching her go. She ducks her head behind the door before he can see her smile to herself and lets the door close by itself.

…

Magnus, it turns out, makes the best chocolate milk. (How, Annabeth doesn't really now, considering it only requires two ingredients). She forces him to put less in her glass—sugar equals death, unfortunately—but it's still the best thing she's had in a long time.

"You know, I could have just bought the premade chocolate milk," Annabeth points out, brushing the crumbs of Magnus' truly horrifying Skittles creations.

"Yeah, but it tastes like crap," Magnus points out, and she grins. She can't exactly pinpoint if her good mood is the result of Percy, or Magnus, or a combination of both, but she doesn't tell him she ran into Percy at all, deciding to keep that minor detail to herself. If she does bring it up, Magnus will probably ask her if she asked about his stupid shrimp, or he'll ask why she's bringing him up, and she doesn't want to go there at all. (Mostly because she doesn't know herself, but whatever).

"Like whatever the hell this is." Annabeth coolly gestures to the sugar cookie bark. The too-runny frosting drips onto the floor ceremoniously as they both stare at it, and she snickers at his inability to do anything kitchen-related really.

"Don't insult my cookies, you ungrateful heathen."

Annabeth's eyes glint mischievously with an idea. "You know what this reminds me of—"

"Don't you dare—"

"Remember when you were five, and your mom was grilling fish—"

"Stop. Stop it right now." The tips of Magnus' ears go red with embarrassment.

"And you thought it would be funny to melt Skittles, and—"

"You traitor! You promised you'd let it go." He pelts her with a red piece of candy, but Annabeth only throws five in return because they're both really mature.

"And the entire smelled of smoke and burnt sugar like thirty minutes later, and Aunt Natalie just opens the grill, and there's a cloud of smoke just rising out of the top like in the cartoons—"

"You're a terrible person."

"And then the fish was all rainbow, and you ate it because your mom was pissed, and you threw up so much, and I think I still have it on video, and I'm pretty sure you murdered the flowers out front!"

Magnus makes a futile attempt to plug his ears, but he's laughing. "I hate you so much."

She laughs with him, relishing the way their voices blend, bouncing off the walls of his cluttered room. It's a hazard, really, Magnus' hoarding tendency—she's told him enough times—but he insists on keeping every single little thing to ever exist. Against a white-wood paneled wall, there's a messy collage of a million polaroids. They're overwhelmingly blue with the ocean starring in the background of almost every single one. Annabeth's pretty sure even she's in a few. There are varied shapes of seashells lined up haphazardly on his abandoned desk in the corner of the room, and there's a tall green surfboard propped up against the window wall. Even his mirror is shaped like a surfboard, and there are two paddles for a canoe bolted on the wall above the headboard, and there's a small hipster painted ukulele tossed on his unruly bed covers. Magnus is the biggest hipster she's ever met in her entire life; it's kind of funny, really.

"You need to clean this dump," she tells him, eyeing the trinkets and clothes lining the ground. "Someone could step on something."

"Well, I know where everything is," Magnus says smugly. "So as long as no one goes messing through my shit, they'll be fine."

"Are you going to stick to that when we have to rush someone to the emergency room with a surfer figurine impaled in the flat of their foot?" Annabeth likes to think of it as a gift, a honed talent, really, that she can spot fatal injuries before they happen. It makes her cautious, not crazy, she swears.

"I'll think about it." Magnus rolls his eyes, and she's suddenly aware of how often she also does that, and how related they seem when they do that. It's oddly reassuring, but for what she doesn't know. "Hey, what time were you thinking of going to the museum?"

They'd avoided bringing up the topic at all, but Magnus' fidgeting like he's been meaning to ask for some time now, and she takes pity on him.

"I wasn't sure. The afternoon, maybe?"

"Like three or so?"

"Yeah, I guess? What's up?" She sips on the chocolate milk as maturely as she can, unlike Magnus who's been blowing bubbles in his glass for the past seven minutes—she even looked at the clock to keep track.

"I was thinking I could come too. Like I'll surf in the morning, take a shower maybe, grab some lunch, and then join?"

"I'm down," Annabeth agrees, her expression softening. She knows Magnus would never be caught dead at a tourist destination, and he's doing this for her since she doesn't know anyone else here, and it's thoughtful and considerate just like Magnus, and she loves him for it, she really does. "Want to go out for lunch since we'll already be out and about?"

"Hell yes," Magnus agrees quickly. "I know this great place for fish and chips."

Annabeth peers at him with curiosity. As royally screwed up as dinner was earlier, the fish was kickass, and she's eager for round two. She doesn't really go out much, obviously, even back home, and she has yet to experience the diverse cuisines California has to offer. Not to mention, LA has some really good food, but the traffic is actually the worst thing to ever happen to humanity on the west coast.

"Alright," she agrees tartly, her mood slightly dimming with the thought of California haunting the back of her mind. Magnus correctly reads the shift in her demeanor, and they just look out the window silently as they finish up the cookies.

…

Annabeth obsessively cleans her room that night when she should be sleeping. She's not really sure what compels her to do it—she thinks it might be the nostalgia coming back to her now in this home she hasn't stepped foot in for so long—and she needs to dust the treacherous ceiling fan to keep her grounded.

Because nostalgia isn't as beautiful as people paint it to be. It's looking back on history with rose-colored glasses, and pretending the glasses don't blind you, and that's a dangerous road to go down. But… it feels so scary getting old, especially when she knows growing old is a privilege so many others are denied. And she doesn't feel more alone than she does now.

She longs for a brother—she can't help it. Annabeth's tried so hard, so many years to shove the memory to the darkest part of her mind, the part she cages in and pretends doesn't exist, but on nights like this when nothing feels quite right or quite wrong, and something so small and insignificant shatters inside of her when she thinks of the memories she's passed up, hiding in her room alone and afraid of growing close to someone else, afraid of dying, afraid of pain, afraid of letting down a dead brother who probably doesn't give a shit about her because he's dead, she misses something.

She misses something, not anything in particular, but a life she could've had. She misses her friends, few but dearly cherished—Thalia, Piper, and Jason—and she misses feeling normal.

Normal isn't something you can really define, but she's tried countless times.

Normal to her is surfing the waves like she used to; it's not fearing every possible awry outcome in the universe to ever exist; it's drinking cheap spirits with her friends and doing dares in a pool at two in the morning because that's part of what it means to be young—taking risks; it's not overthinking the little things; it's not analyzing every piece of what she's said to anyone all day and not stressing over it, ever calculating; it's being a little reckless, a little stupid, maybe a little drunk, and a little at war with life and a little in love with it too; it's being melodramatic and being a teenager to the fullest; it's sipping on cold drinks by the warm water; it's freckles, and tan skin, and cool sweat, and dancing, and singing terribly, and tipsy kisses by the edge of the water; it's feeling small but not minuscule of people at a concert; it's being part of being something bigger than yourself, and fitting in, and also standing out, and feeling forever young; it's laughing so hard your ribs get a little tough, and it's still not enough; it's—it's something she'll never know.

Annabeth sits down in the center of the circular blue rug in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling fan with mild trepidation, a Swiffer in her hand.

The guest bedroom is entirely devoid of any piece of her. It's not that she didn't bring things she loves with her, but her books are still crammed in her bags, and her photographs are hidden away in the various zippers and compartments, and she doesn't want to see any of it, and she doesn't want to think of better times and better mindsets, and she just breathes, sitting there on the rug. She feels like she's in the center of the universe all at once, and after staring at the fan long enough she feels a little dizzy, and she falls onto her back, spread-eagle like a starfish, looking up through the skylight and appreciating the twinkling stars around her.

She feels small, but… but it's not as bad as it used to be.

And then she remembers there's probably a crap-ton of germs on the ground before shooting up hastily and seeking comfort on the bed instead.

…

"That was the most boring thing I've ever done in my entire life."

Annabeth glares at Magnus as they sit at the boardwalk. It's much too close to the water for her liking, but he insisted it was the best view, and even if the water makes her a little uncomfortable, she has to admit he's right.

"This is terrible for you," says Annabeth, critically eyeing the fish in chips set out in front of them. The grease stains the flimsy cardboard container, but even she has to admit it's easy on the taste buds. Annabeth dips a fry into the tartar sauce before popping it into her mouth. It's still steaming hot, just like the weather.

"Live a little," Magnus tells her, leaning back against the wood. He's going to choke if he doesn't sit up right, and she eyes him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. He splashes his feet into the water lazily, closing his eyes and relishing the sun on his face.

It's moments like this that make Annabeth wish she was an artist. She would like to paint them like this, sprawled out in the sun, tasting summer on their tongues, pretending like they live life differently than they do, Magnus pretending he's unbothered by all of life even if he feels every so deeply, and Annabeth pretending she's fearless and badass and the type of girl who cruises down bumpy roads in halter tops and cut-off shorts on skateboards, sipping slushies and vibing to '80s music and wearing crazy, UFO-shaped sunglasses, and they pretend together they're not growing up too fast, and they're not leaving the best years of their life behind them. Annabeth's going to college soon, and it just feels so rushed, and she wants to sit back and hold his hand while they're growing up.

Magnus must feel it too because he peeks at her through one open eye, and he smiles, and the growing anxiety ballooning inside of her subsides even just for a moment.

"Magnus!"

Annabeth sits up quickly, and Magnus runs his fingers through his hair, lazily looking for the source of his name.

A boy in board shorts runs barefoot across the wood. Annabeth watches with disapproval; that's pretty much asking for a splinter. As he comes closer, she realizes it's Grover, the boy from the shop.

"Grover," says Magnus, smiling politely. "What's up?"

"Poseidon just caught a monster s-shark." Grover seems equal parts horrified and at awe.

"No way?" Magnus is already standing up.

"Way," Grover confirms, smiling nervously at Annabeth like he's afraid she'll bite. She looks to Magnus and shrugs.

"C'mon," Magnus urges.

"Go see a shark?" Annabeth's eyes are wide. She's not exactly fond of sharks, and she's reminded of Percy's voice in her head: "mostly harmless."

"What type?" Magnus asks as the three of them jog across the sandy beaches. Annabeth's cautious not to trip.

"We're not sure yet," Grover bleats out as they run. He's panting heavily. "I thought it was a Spinner, but it wasn't jumping weird enough. It's putting up quite the fight, though."

Magnus' eyes widen. "How long?"

"Eleven feet, if I had to guess."

"Do you think it's…?" Magnus' face is ashen with shock, and Annabeth has no damn idea what they're talking about.

"Mako? God, I hope not." Grover trembles at the thought.

"What's wrong with makos?" Annabeth breathes harshly. Running through sand is harder than it looks.

"What's wrong?" Grover squeaks.

"Mako sharks are the fastest sharks on the planet," Magnus says. "They can get up to 40mph, and they're probably the nastiest, most temperamental sharks in the Keys. And when caught, sometimes they'll leap to 20 feet or so."

Annabeth pales. "You mean in the air? Like vertically?!" A terrifying image of a large fish with snapping jaws and lethal teeth gliding in the air like a dolphin comes to mind, and Annabeth shivers.

Magnus nods grimly. "They can get super close to boats and people on board because of it, and they're usually offshore sharks, but they attack even unprovoked. I saw one when I was diving a couple years back, and I got out of the water so fast I nearly had a heart attack."

"Who's Poseidon?" she calls over the roaring ocean.

"Only the greatest fishermen in all the Florida Keys," Grover says excitedly.

"What?" She can barely hear him.

"Percy's dad!" Magnus says, and Annabeth's eyes go wide with understanding. It feels big, whatever this is.

Magnus stops, and Annabeth looks up to see a small crowd forming by the shore. There's a huge beast flopping about, and it makes her feel a little sick. She doesn't like sharks, okay—animals are just scary in general—but they're still animals, and it looks so desperate for air, and she feels queasy.

"Are you even allowed to catch them?" she asks, nudging Magnus as he fights a way for them through the crowd.

"Of course." He's surprised by her question, and that only makes her feel worse. "But it's a rare catch, you're not allowed to use firearms, and there's a limit on how many sharks parties can kill. Conservation and all that."

That, at least, makes her feel a little better. "How long have they been fighting it?" Annabeth asks.

"At least an hour now," says Grover, bright-eyed.

Magnus finally makes it to the front, and he reaches behind to pull Annabeth in the front alongside him. Grover's standing on his left.

Annabeth watches with morbid fascination as a middle-aged man with greying hair and sea-green eyes practically wrestles the big beast. It takes two men, both of whom she's never seen before, to drag it all the way into the sand, and she assumes the taller one is Percy's father. They flip it over onto its stomach, and the shark lurches forward, still alive but struggling, trying to get back into the water.

"They're going to kill it," Annabeth whispers, the pit in her stomach feeling hollow.

"I think they used a circle hook," Magnus whispers back, his eyes glued to the show before them.

The crowd clamors excitedly at the action, and the shark goes still. The other man, not Percy's father, opens the mouth, laughing gleefully, and shows the crowd. There are lines of jagged teeth, sharp and thick like fat knives, and there's some unrecognizable meat hanging from the teeth, and Annabeth can't tell if it's from the hook and it's the shark's own skin or some prey. Either way, she squirms uncomfortably. It's a glorious beast, beautiful, and… and she wishes they hadn't caught it all.

"It's a female mako!" the man announces and claps Poseidon on the back. "Clock it in at three hundred pounds and twelve feet," he says, beaming. Poseidon laughs, wiping sweat from his brow.

Some young boys look at it with wicked interest, and one of them has the gall to slap the shark. They can't be older than seven or eight, and already they have a taste for blood, and Annabeth knows there's nothing wrong with fishing or hunting or any of it, and she's not against it, really—freedom and all that—but… but it's a little disheartening, and she's not used to this.

There's a bob of black hair coming from the other end of the sand, pushing through the crowd. People part immediately for the individual, and she can't see as she's shoved to the side with Magnus. Grover's disappeared somewhere. Clarisse is congratulating Poseidon on his catch, and locals are observing it rowdily.

"Dad!"

Annabeth's nearly elbowed in the face, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere. She pushes out, even straying from Magnus—she's slim enough to squeeze through people—and she sees Percy. He's soaking wet, and he's not even wearing shoes or a shirt, and she's assuming he was out swimming or something, and he looks supremely pissed.

"Perseus! Come look." His dad drags him over to the shark, and the disgust on Percy's face is so obvious Annabeth's heart goes out to him, and yet she doesn't understand because isn't he a fisherman's son? Doesn't he sell fish? Isn't he used to this?

"Isn't she a beauty?" Poseidon asks, grinning from ear to ear.

Clarisse raises the fin, cheering to that, and Poseidon smiles kindly at her.

Percy falls to his knees in the sand, observing the shark. The crowd is slowly dissipating, and Percy looks like he might snap and murder a man at any moment.

"What's going on?" Annabeth asks. Magnus is by her side in a moment. "Why is he so upset?"

"What?"

"What are they saying? Why are they arguing?" She points discreetly to Percy and his dad. Percy's cheeks and ears are turning red with anger.

Magnus' face changes to one of sympathy. "Percy's a big fisherman, don't get me wrong, but he's a strong advocate of shark conservation. He's not wrong, entirely—some species are definitely suffering from overfishing, and the state's trying to make even more restrictions—but it's kind of hard to have that opinion here when sharks are considered something that deserves a congratulations."

"Oh." Because what does she say to that?

"I like to call him the Shark Whisperer," Magnus tells her. The wind whips her hair around everywhere, and it's so loud in her ears. "He's swam with tiger sharks, and they didn't do anything."

"Are they supposed to?" Tiger sharks sound dangerous.

"They're one of the biggest and most predatory species in existence. They're not fast like makos, but they can reach 24 feet and over 1000 pounds, and only the whale shark, basking shark, and great white are bigger. They eat dolphins and whales, dude. It's nuts. I wouldn't be caught dead around those things. You know, unless they killed me."

Annabeth swallows thickly, looking at Percy carefully as if she's seeing him in a new light.

"That boy could probably bleed in a pool with five great whites and be laughing and befriending them. I don't know how he does it… but it's incredible to watch."

Annabeth glances at Magnus, and she sees the fondness on his face.

"You guys are close?" she asks.

"Kind of," Magnus agrees, frowning at Percy cussing angrily across the beach. Nobody's watching anymore, but his dad and him are arguing so loudly even Annabeth feels bad, like she's intruding or something.

She hears something that sounds an awful lot like 'no wonder Mom left you,' and she gazes back at the drama. Percy's on his knees now, the sand clinging to his wet figure, and he has both hands on the shark's back, gently stroking the fins. His eyes are rimmed-red, and he's not quite crying, but he looks so pissed he might. She doesn't know how long she watches him, hopefully in the un-creepiest way possible, but she understands where Magnus is coming from. It's not hard to see how much Percy loves this ocean, and its creatures, and the sound of the water lapping against the shore. He's distanced from the humans, but closer to the animals than anyone else ever could be, and Annabeth finds herself sharing Magnus' fond sentiments.

Percy's eyes meet hers, and Annabeth feels her cheeks warm at being caught staring, and she quickly looks away, but it's too late. She hears him get up, and he's making his way over to them. She tries to tell herself to breathe, but Percy has a way of stealing her breath at any given moment.

"I thought you didn't like the water," says Percy, and Annabeth awkwardly turns to face him.

"I don't."

Magnus takes that as his cue to leave, mumbling something about cleaning up the fish and chips they left behind, and not littering, and going back to the house.

"And Percy? It's okay, man. You couldn't have done anything," Magnus assures him, and Percy nods morosely, his expression hardening at the mention of the shark, but he reluctantly accepts Magnus' hug. Magnus pats him on the back before stalking away.

"Sorry you had to see that. That's a shitty way to start your Florida trip," Percy curses, apologetically glancing at her.

Annabeth shrugs one shoulder, trying to steady her wildly-palpitating heart. "It's okay. It just caught me off guard, that's all."

"C'mon, let's go find a towel. I smell like fish," Percy apologized.

She half-smiled, but it was weak. He actually just smells saltier than usual with the sea water, and she wonders if maybe he wasn't fishing after all.

"It's okay," she agrees.

Percy walks with her for some time, and they're mostly quiet. "Welcome to my humble abode," he says dryly after about fifteen minutes or so.

Annabeth gapes up at the seaside house. It's beautiful, decorated to represent the sea, seashells and pastels and half-carved surfer boards propped around with the correct tools.

"You make boards?" There's a wooden skeleton in one corner of Percy's room, and there's so many photographs propped up around his room, many filled with a middle-aged woman with kind blue eyes and a brown hair who she can only assume is his mother.

He nods. "I'm going to pop in the shower, mkay? You can look around if you want."

Her heart warms at his implicit trust in her, and she cautiously sits down on his bed. It's not made or anything, obviously, but she doesn't want to disrupt the naturally wild, free spirit of his space. It's endearing, in a way.

…

Percy comes out of the shower, and he's not even wearing clothes, just a towel, and it's so indecent, and he doesn't seem to give a fuck, and Annabeth does her best to avoid eye contact as he skims his closet.

Percy dramatically drapes himself on his bed, looking up at her with tired eyes. They're still a little red, and she's starting to think maybe he really did cry.

"Do you usually not wear clothes?" Annabeth quips, and he grins slowly, and immediately she feels like she's been set afire.

"It depends," Percy teases, "on how much redder your face can get."

"Fuck off."

He laughs heartily, and ducks into the bathroom attached to his room, coming back with fresh shorts, though he still insists on torturing her by avoiding shirts. How dare he? She rolls her eyes, and she hides a smile, observing the pictures on his walls carefully.

"Why didn't they just throw the shark back?" Annabeth asks quietly after a moment. "Can't they do that?"

Percy sighs in resignation like he's finally ready to talk about his semi-breakdown on the beach. "They used a circle hook. I think she just kept fighting too much, and she got cut up too much, and at that point they're already going to die anyway if you throw them back in the sea, so it's just a waste of fish not to keep it for kills." He frowns to himself, gazing up at his ceiling thoughtfully. "But I don't think they intended to throw it back at all, bastards."

Annabeth's sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either," Annabeth comforts, remembering how Magnus held him.

"He's my dad, though." Percy rolls onto his stomach, and she pauses flipping through his baby pictures to meet his eye. He looks tortured and awful, and she finds herself falling into the pit of depression alongside him. "It hurts more when it's him. He said he'd stop catching sharks two years ago, and he broke that promise today. And I'm just really disappointed in him, but hey, it's nothing new right?" Percy smiles, but it's hollow and pained, and she has the absurd urge to cry.

Annabeth scowls, but it's not as angry as usual, just resigned and fatigued. "Yeah, family always tends to let us down the most, don't they?"

Percy nods solemnly. "This is too deep for four o'clock."

She half-smiles. "Maybe." She flips to the next picture, sitting down in his chair at his desk. There's wood sheddings littered all over the counter, but she ignores it, crossly her ankles primly. "I didn't know you took a bath in red Gatorade."

Percy laughs, and it makes her feel much better, the heavy atmosphere lifting immediately. Percy seems to have that effect on every situation it seems. "That was my fifth birthday," he remembers, and he stands up to hover over her shoulder. She's very aware of his soft breathing against the back of her neck, and it feels so intimate it's unbearably nice. She can't move. Percy reaches over to point at his mom in the background. "It wasn't a particularly expensive request, and it was just some stupid fun so she agreed. I was sticky in all sorts of places for like three days after. Never doing that again."

Annabeth grins when she flips the page. Percy's totally naked, and he's maybe three, and he has underwear on his head, and he's running around in the sand totally unashamed.

This time it's Percy's turn to blush. "Well, fuck. I forgot that was in here." He quickly goes to turn the page, but Annabeth slaps her hand down on it, hindering his progress, and making his blush darken significantly.

Before she can lose her resolve, "you had such a tiny dick," Annabeth speculates, peeking at it closely, and Percy turns impossibly redder.

"Can you not?"

Annabeth tries not to laugh, she really does, but he's blushing really hard, and it's way cuter than it should be, and little Percy is absolutely adorable, and those eyes are just as beautiful as they were back then, and her lips curve up sweetly like she just can't help herself.

"It's probably bigger now!"

And she loses it. "You said 'probably,'" she repeats, fully realizing how stupidly funny this situation is—they're discussing his dick, for god's sake, and she starts laughing so hard she's crying, and then Percy's laughing too—this whole thing is just ridiculous—and then they're both cackling wildly, holding their stomachs as they try to breathe. They try to calm down, but every time they lock eyes, the cycle starts all over again.

It feels like it's been hours, though it's probably only been a few minutes, but Percy finally regulates his breathing, and she manages to calm down, and they just grin knowingly at each other, and Annabeth's never felt more alive than she does now.

"You're so stupid," she says, unable to stop smiling.

"I try," he chuckles, and then they're quiet, just looking at each other, and this is probably only the third time she's ever talked to him, but she feels like she's known him all her life, and it's nothing like she's ever experienced before, this type of understanding. It's refreshing, it's wholesome, and it makes her want to do something. It makes her a little stupid too, and a little reckless, but—she likes to think it's bringing out the best in her, the version of her that's so repressed, the one who's not afraid to live, and when she looks at him, he seems to know everything is so much different now. It's a subtle shift in their dynamic, but it's enough to be noticeable.

"Hey, do you want to see something tonight?"

Annabeth's forehead creases in confusion. "See what?"

"A surprise," Percy whispers, and a wave of anxiety crashes into her, spoiling her once invincible feeling.

"I don't know, Percy."

He studies her face. "I won't take you to the beach, I swear."

"Percy, I don't know. I don't even like riding bikes and stuff. It's… it's dangerous."

"Lots of things are dangerous."

"Percy," she says in exasperation, willing him to understand. He must see her wide eyes and shallow breathing because he caves.

"I found this freshwater grotto a couple months back."

Her stomach does flip flops. It reminds her too much of those movies where people drown, or there's shark attack, or something, and she's scared okay? It's hard to change years of habit, and she appreciates his openness and willing to give up a surprise for her comfort, but that doesn't mean the surprise is any better.

She opens her mouth to protest, but Percy holds up a patient hand. "Let me finish," he pleads, and he seems so earnest that she keeps quiet and waits for him to finish. "It's beautiful. It's an open top, so it's not claustrophobia-triggering, and it's the clearest, blue water you'll ever see. Nothing would ever sneak up on you, and it's too shallow for big creatures, and freshwater is usually not popular with anything you could possibly be afraid of—in fact there's barely any fish in there. I think I've only ever seen two at once, and they're tiny, like pet fish. And there's vine all around and rocks, and there's a little perch off to the side made from rock, and I've gone diving in there a thousand times to make sure it's safe like I always do before I ever bring anyone anywhere, and it does this beautiful thing where the flowers around the sides of the water dip into the water when night falls. I don't really know why, but it's spectacular to watch, and if you don't want to come near the water I swear I won't make you—we can just sit on the perch—but I really want to show you."

"Are you still breathing?" Annabeth jokes, but Percy can probably see right through her act of bravery.

"Unfortunately, yes," he whispers in return, and his face is really close to hers, and if she just leaned in the right way she could kiss him and—

"What if I die?" Annabeth finally admits. There's ringing in her ears. It's already dangerous enough on land, forget the water. She's fallen into too many YouTube rabbit holes of watching the scariest underwater creatures.

"Trust me," he murmurs under his breath almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud. "You're not going to die—I'd die before I let that happen—and like I said, you don't have to go in. You can sit on the rock and admire the flowers and I'll cannonball in and then obnoxiously drip water all over you," he jokes, but she can tell he's nervously awaiting her agreement.

Annabeth takes a deep breath, playing with her fingers nervously, and Percy takes them gently in his own and squeezes. It's not that she doesn't trust him—if Magnus does, then she does too—but it won't fight the irrational fear.

"No water, just rock?" She's breathless, her eyes wide with fear. Her chest feels tight.

"I promise," he emphasizes.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly before peeking back up at him. His eyes are still on her, captivated, waiting, patient, understanding. "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yes." It doesn't feel like the biggest mistake of her life, but her blood is coursing so quickly through her veins, and her face feels hot.

"Okay, then." Percy smiles a little, relaxing, and it's the same charming way he smiled at her as she hauled milk and chocolate sauce back to her house the other night. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Annabeth Chase," he breathes, and she smiles shyly.

"I better get home." The sun is already leaking hues of orange and yellow and gold, sparkling across Percy's room in broken slices. It's beautiful, but she should probably get home before dinner. "What time?"

"I'll come over around seven or so?"

Annabeth glances to the clock on his wall. It's half past four. "Okay," she agrees. Percy pulls away from her, albeit reluctantly, and she both simultaneously lets out a sigh of relief and feels a pinch of regret. Part of her wishes she'd kissed him, and the other part is hopelessly relieved he didn't. She thinks he doesn't want to scare her off, and after getting her to agree to come see his treasure grove she thinks he doesn't want to push her luck. That's okay. She's waited her whole life to feel alive again, and if she's waited this long, she can wait a little longer until she's ready, until he's not afraid to scare her, until she feels bold again.

"Bye, Percy." She smiles at him as they reach his front door.

He leans against his doorframe. "Want me to walk you back?"

Annabeth sees how tired he looks, though, like he desperately needs to eat or needs a nap. Swimming is so strength-consuming, she knows, and his eyes are droopy with exhaustion, and she knows she's irrationally afraid she's going to get lost even though she most certainly knows the way back home, and it's pretty close to Percy's house, and—

"It's okay," she assures him.

"Are you sure?" Percy gnaws at his bottom lip, and that only makes the urge to kiss him multiply tenfold. "It's not a problem. It'll barely take ten minutes."

"Percy, you look like you're going to fall over any moment. You should go eat something," she says gently, and she smiles at him. "I'll be okay," she says, and it feels more like she's saying it to comfort herself than him.

He hesitantly pauses. "Okay. But text me if you need anything, okay?"

She appreciates the offer. "Thanks, Percy."

He just smiles drowsily, using the doorframe to support his weight. She looks back one last time, and he's barely a blob in the doorway, still waiting until she's gone completely, watching her as long as he can.

Annabeth smiles down at her feet, and then she runs off to get back to her cousin's home in a timely fashion. After all, she needs to shower and eat dinner before Percy comes over to hang out. She's pretty sure she has sand in her hair from Magnus' careless, mischievous ways, and that's a situation that needs to be rectified ASAP.

…

"Do I wear a bathing suit?"

"Shit, Annabeth, I don't even know." Magnus sits on her bed, puzzled as she sorts through her closet. "So it's a date?"

She groans at his words. "I don't know, dude. Maybe a bathing suit with clothes on top? I mean, I'm not planning to go in the water."

Magnus laughs to himself at the expression on her face. "You'll look stuffed, and you'll probably get hot."

"Not if it's a two-piece, though, right?"

Magnus throws his arms up in exasperation. "I'm an only child, man! I don't know girl stuff."

Annabeth rolls his eyes. "You don't know stuff, period."

"Asshole."

She smiles sweetly at him and holds up a middle finger at him until he laughs. She ends up pushing him out of her room so she can change, deciding on regular clothes over a two-piece bathing suit. It's basically like wearing undergarments, right?

The doorbell rings through the house, and she kind of hates Percy for not just texting her to come down. She cringes when she hears Frey's heavy footsteps going for the door, and she slides into sandals as fast she can to reduce the length of a sure-to-be awkward conversation.

"Percy!" Frey greets brightly, and Annabeth grabs her phone off the counter. Percy sees her, though, because he smiles brightly, and she's relieved. He's also in normal, casual clothes.

Frey turns behind him to see her. "Oh, Annabeth." He looks at her quizzically.

"I'll be back later, Uncle. Don't wait up," she says quickly, trying to slip past him out the door, but Frey stops her.

"Wait, where are you kids going? It's almost dark out." He frowns at Percy.

"Um." She hesitates. "The beach." She doesn't want to spill Percy's secret grotto and lose his trust and faith.

Frey's eyes dart between both of them. "I know they leave the lights on, but the life guards are all off duty. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's fine," Annabeth assures him, swallowing her nervousness. She really doesn't want to talk about this, or else she'll cave to her fears and give up on this.

"I'm CPR-trained," Percy reminds him, smiling politely, and Annabeth just stares at him because she didn't even know that. "And I've never let anything happen to Magnus," he points out.

Frey relaxes. "That's true. Be careful. Don't do anything stupid."

She tries not to think too hard about that last one.

"And Annabeth? I'm proud of you," Frey says softly, and she offers the tiniest smile. Percy seems somewhat confused by the meaning, but he's nonplussed, and she ducks her head out the door, waving half-heartedly behind her as she goes, following Percy into the night.

…

"Oh, it's beautiful!" She's not quite sure why she's surprised, but she hasn't seen something like this in so long, seeing as she actively avoids these kinds of places. Annabeth sits with her long legs dangling over the edge of the rock. She's grateful it's not like a cave but entirely open as he had promised, and it's even better than she could have ever imagined.

The rocks are almost purple in the night, and there's some colorful LED lights set up around it, probably something Percy did the day he discovered this place to make sure he was being safe when he explored. The water is crystal clear, just as he said, and the surface is so smooth and tempting.

"Were you expecting it to be hideous?" Percy teases, and she doesn't even bother to say something equally sarcastic because she's too enraptured with the grotto's beauty.

"Like you?" she finally says, turning away from the water to smirk at him. He holds a hand to his chest, feigning horror.

"I'm gorgeous," he tells her, and he winks, and she's pretty sure she dies a thousand deaths. Yes, she internally agrees, you really are, but she just sneers at him.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she huffs, and he laughs. After a beat of silence. "When did you put the lights up?"

"This afternoon." He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "I don't usually dive at night here, and if I do I bring all my equipment like underwater flashlights. But I thought… I thought it might make you feel a little better."

Something in her ribcage melts, and she hates it for doing so. "You didn't sleep then? Percy," she sighs, but she's smiling stupidly, and so he doesn't seem to feel regret at all.

He shrugs. "The water is pretty dark at night."

She swallows hard. It looks almost black, like ink, when the sun falls. But now it's almost inviting, except for the fact that it's probably freezing. "Yeah," she says quietly.

"Can I ask you something?" he tries.

She should say no, she really should, because she thinks she knows where this is going, and it's uncomfortable and terrible to talk about, and she really doesn't want to, but he seems so troubled, concerned, and she just wants to get it over with. Annabeth hesitantly nods.

"I bet you know this is coming, but… but why are you so afraid of… well, water for one thing, but just things in general? I always look at you, and it feels like you're holding your breath for something, and I don't understand, but I want to, if that's okay with you," he finishes softly.

Annabeth bites her lip, fidgeting. She stares out the water, knowing that if she looks at him, she will one hundred percent close up and feel awkward and cold and not like sharing. She shudders a little, and Percy probably thinks she's cold despite the dull warmth of a Florida night because he scoots a little closer to her, and his body warmth keeps her comfortable.

"You really want the harrowing bullshit?" She feels him smile.

"Yeah, I really do."

She smiles, but it hurts. "I had a brother."

Percy's quiet, silently noting the past tense. He gives her space to explain at her own pace.

"We were super close, and I'm from California, so it's not like I'm a total stranger to the water. My brother and I were surfing and screwing around, and I don't—" She cuts herself off, reliving the memories. Percy squeezes her hand for support, and she relishes in his touch. "I was nine, and he was eleven, but it was almost like we were twins. He was a smart kid, destined for greatness. We live in Silicon Valley, so you know…"

"Surrounded by geniuses until you become one yourself," Percy understands.

She nods obediently. "Yeah, so it's not like he didn't know how to swim or something." Percy tenses, and she knows he knows where this is going. "Basically, I lost track of him. It was a particularly big wave, a riptide I think. It was bright and sunny, and there were lifeguards and everything, but his head went under water for more than two minutes, and you're not supposed to fight against riptides—he knew that just as much as I did—but I think he panicked because he couldn't find me. I think he thought I was caught in it too, and I wasn't, and he was frantic, searching for me because… I'm his little sister, right?"

Percy nods slowly, his expression revealing nothing. It's like he closes up when he knows something bad's about to happen.

"And he panicked so hard he began choking, and I was freaking out at that point, screaming for a lifeguard. I was nine; I didn't know what to do." She shrugs helplessly. The water ripples under them in mesmerizing, identical waves. "They couldn't revive him, and he died that day."

Percy frowns, looking down at the water too.

"And I know it's hard for you to imagine because you grew up in Long Island, and you've probably been a natural since you were little." She smiles a little, and he does too, thinking of his baby pictures back from his room. "But it really messed with me. I think I would've been more… normal, I guess, if my parents hadn't fucked it up so much." Annabeth's voice goes sour. "They were too busy grieving and coping and arguing to maybe realize that I was sort of traumatized and depressed at the age of nine. I needed somebody, you know? And they didn't do shit. They were so busy arguing among themselves that I developed this great fear of water without proper therapy or healthy coping or support. And then the fear spread to, well, everything. Suddenly bikes were death contraptions, and baths were a big no, only showers, and sugar is a leading murderer, and I had my ceiling fan uninstalled, and germs are going to contaminate you, and everything was just out to get you because if that ocean I'd known my entire life was perfectly safe until it claimed my brother's life, who's to say the same thing won't happen with anything else? I don't know. I think it's gotten a bit better with age, my tendencies I mean, but I still actively avoid a lot of things, and I can't really help it."

"Like a sort of anxiety," Percy says, and she nods.

"Yeah, kind of."

"Is sitting this high up freaking you out?" He seems genuinely concerned, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"It did at first, but I think it's more stable than it looked, and the fact that someone else is sitting here makes it a little better." Her smile wavers slightly.

"So what happened with your parents?"

She scoffs, bitterly perhaps. "Divorced about six years ago, and my mother never reached out again, so I let it go."

He winces. "That's rough."

"Your parents are divorced too, though," Annabeth points out.

"Yeah, but I still talked to both when they were divorced. I even talk to my step-father sometimes, Paul. Nice guy."

"What happened to your mom?" She remembers him telling her she died when he was seven.

Percy looks like he's aged five years as he considers the question. Her heart squeezes painfully. "She was an aspiring author. She was going on her first book tour, and we were all very excited, and the plane had a malfunction in one of its engines." He doesn't say more, and he doesn't need to.

Annabeth's quiet. "That's awful."

He smiles sadly. "Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe that's why I refuse to go on airplanes," he tells her, and he grins half-heartedly.

Annabeth smiles at that. "You're joining me in the traumatic fear club?"

"Maybe not as extremely, but yeah." He sighs. "You think you'll ever get over any of it?"

"Maybe. I'm getting better with each day, and stuff like this… this lax, laid back rehab into it, it kind of helps."

He smiles warmly at her. "I'm glad."

"You?"

"Force me on a ferris wheel, and you'll see that it's not happening any time soon."

She throws her head back and laughs, and it echoes against the tall rock cliffs. "Ferris wheels are cute, though! My friend and his girlfriend take so many pictures on those, and it's super romantic and sweet." It's only because they're slow that even she can tolerate them, but she likes thinking of Piper and Jason, her lovely friends back in California.

He snorts. "My panic won't be romantic, Annabeth."

She grins. "I can't imagine you afraid of anything," she admits, and it's a sobering thought.

He winks. "That's the plan."

She rolls her eyes at his stupidity.

"Okay, c'mon let's go diving."

"Percy!"

He holds up his hands, laughing. "I'm only joking. Unless you want to." He's earnest and sweet, but she still needs time, and she'd like to start with a pool or something manmade and easier, maybe.

"Raincheck?"

"For sure," he agrees. "But there's no way in hell I'm coming down here and not swimming."

"Do you have a personal vendetta against shirts?" she muses as he throws his off his head and onto the rocks.

"Are you complaining?" He's amused.

Days of heaving heavy nets and manning sailboats have obviously agreed with him, and he's so effortlessly pretty it's almost unfair. It doesn't help that he has long eyelashes that cast curly, delicate shadows under his eyes, and his orbs reflect the ocean, and his hair is dark against his tan skin, and it's just not fair to Annabeth, really.

She scowls petulantly, and he takes that as a yes, and his grin only spreads.

"Besides, I hate the feeling of my shirt sticking to me," he complains. When he pulls his shirt off, there's just a pastel, pearly white and peach seashell necklace resting against the base of his throat. It gleams in the LED lights, winking at her.

"And your shorts don't have the same effect?" she drawls, leaning back on the palms of her hands. She raises an eyebrow in amusement.

"Of course they do." Percy stands to his feet, peering over the edge curiously. "But I'm sure the lifeguards would have a stroke if I just gave the beaches a show, wouldn't they?" Percy offers a cheeky grin. "And probably you too." Before she can protest, he dives over the edge of the rock.

Annabeth scrambles to her knees to peer at him just as he cleanly breaks through the water's surface, smoothly, professionally sending minimal ripples across the surface. He comes up for air, shaking out the dark mop on his head, and he beams up at her. He looks so small in the water, but so at home, and Annabeth is content to admire him as he swims. It's so graceful, the way he cuts through the water, and because it's clear she can finally stop worrying about the Jaws shark coming up from the bottom and dragging Percy into the pits of hell.

"It's fucking cold without a wetsuit," he hisses, and she laughs, laying on her stomach and propping her face up on her elbow.

"You'd make a pretty merman," she teases, and he laughs, splashing the water high enough to flick a couple droplets against her hand.

"What color tail should I get?" he asks, swimming around like a jellyfish, his motions as fluid as the water.

"The same color as your soul so you can match forever."

"What color is your soul?" he inquires, carding his fingers through his wet hair. It's distracting.

"Black like my coffee," she mocks, and he snorts. "And what color is your soul, Perce?"

"Rainbow."

"Indecisive traitor."

"I want a glittery, merman, sequin tail," he protests, and she smiles at him.

"Okay, Aquaman."

He rolls his eyes. "That movie was terrible."

"Says you."

"I'm very much qualified to judge water movies," he declares. "I'm practically a merman."

"No, you're the Shark Whisperer."

Percy looks up at her in surprise. "Magnus told you that? That boy is always spilling my business." He clicks his tongue in false distaste, and Annabeth grins so hard her cheeks hurt.

"Did you really swim with tiger sharks?"

He smiles like it's a secret, and she likes to think it's an expression he saves only for her. "I was twelve," he confirms.

"Percy, that's so dangerous!" She groans, facepalming at his stupidity.

"I was free-diving, and my dad taught me well when I was younger, so he was okay with me doing it alone as long as I didn't go too far, and he was hanging around on shore if I needed anything with a radio. I was always safe. Help was never too far away, but I just came across a few of them together, and they were so magnificent."

He sounds fond, and she finds herself listening intently.

"I knew what they were, of course. I knew my marine life for safety measures, and I knew they were hopelessly dangerous, but… if I was quiet, they didn't really seem to mind. And I even managed to touch one."

Annabeth's unintentionally balled up her fist, afraid of even his memory, but his voice is soothing, relaxed, and it helps.

"I cut my hand almost immediately, of course. Their skin is sharp and rough against ours, and it hurt like a bitch, and I probably should have got out. I was bleeding, and they would probably murder me or something, but I didn't, and my dad yelled at me so much when he found out later while bandaging my hand, but they didn't do anything, Annabeth." His eyes are glassy with passion, and he smiles at her like a little kid, seeing the ocean for the first time. "They're wonderful creatures most of the time. Bull sharks are kind of like the bitchy middle sibling, and even I'll usually get out if they're lingering around because they attack unprovoked, but for the most part sharks are so calm, and graceful, and beautiful, and I wish people weren't so afraid of them. Yes, you should always exercise proper precautions, but we are so grateful to have them, and we have to treasure them."

He pauses, looking at her, and her heart is breaking into a million pieces but in the good way. She's never wanted to kiss him, hug him, touch him more than she does now.

"What's your favorite?"

"Nurse sharks," Percy says without missing a beat. "They're so small and cute and sweet, and their skin is actually super soft, so I never get injured with them, and I would adopt one if I could." He looks her squarely in the eye, treading the water expertly, and he's dead serious.

She laughs. "I think you've already adopted the whole ocean, Percy."

He scans the water around him wistfully, and then he smiles up at her. There's a hint of a dimple in his left cheek, and it's driving her nuts. "Maybe I have," he agrees, his voice so small with the fascination of a child, and she realizes she really, really likes him, and that's dangerous because her feelings can get hurt, but she trusts him, and she likes him, and she doesn't want to be afraid of this too. And her ribs are a cage for a broken heart, but they're capable of hurting from laughing so hard, and they're capable of opening up, and she's seen it happen before, and that's where she wants to be. She wants to roll around in this feeling, to revel in everything that makes Percy Jackson who he is, to feel the warmth that comes from inside that is meeting someone new, and going from the awkwardly polite stages to texting stupid crap at three in the morning, to asking if they like you, to subconscious touching like your bodies are just naturally drawn to each other, to innocent fingers brushing against skin, to waiting for their texts, and calling just to hear their voice, and she doesn't want to run from this too. She doesn't want to run from him.

He's stupidly nice, and he knows too much stuff about the ocean to the point where she kind of ships him with the sea, and he's dorky and smooth at the same time, and he loves his mom and begrudgingly his dad, and he loves animals, and he's passionate about the Earth, and he's compassionate and understanding, and he's patient and non-judgemental and nurturing, and he's not afraid to step out of toxic masculinity and do simple things like hug Magnus, and he smiles at her like he's a little crazy, and he knows it, and he doesn't care, and she wants to go to the world he goes to when he's swimming in the water because she can practically see his mind wandering somewhere else, a heaven in every sense of the word, and she wants to follow him wherever he goes.

Percy finally gets out of the water, and he makes his way over to the rocks to climb up.

Annabeth holds out her hand, and he gratefully takes it as she pulls him up, but when he sits on the rock next to her, dripping wet, he doesn't let go. He grins wickedly at her, and Annabeth's heart skips a beat, and then he pulls her flush against him, and he kisses her.

Percy's gentle at first, considerate, slow, but she's wanted this for so long that she's kissing him fervently, and he reciprocates. He lets her set the pace, and it's just another thing she absolutely adores about him, and they kiss until her lips are probably swollen, but it's a long time coming, and she refuses to pull away for anything but air.

Annabeth very much underestimated how much more he can take her breath away when he's actually taking her breath away, and she doesn't feel normal like she always thought she would.

No, she feels like the best version of herself, like the her before her brother died, like the person she would like to be more of in the future, and when his hands curl around her waist, hers come up to cup his jaw almost automatically. They're so in sync and for the first time in a long time she feels like somebody understands her, and there is no feeling that compares to how she feels right now: heart full, cheeks flushed, and breath and heart stolen. She feels eternally young, and he kisses her again because he can.

…

"I think I'm going to freak out."

Percy glances up at her, genuinely concerned. "She's a nurse, though. She's just a baby little thing; she won't hurt you."

But Percy is practically holding a shark, and he's petting it like it's a dog, and is he actually a psychopath? It swims around him, completely unbothered by his touch. Magnus was right—it's incredible to watch—but it does naught to smother her sheer terror. And sure she's standing like ten feet away, watching from far, far away, but that doesn't make it any less scary.

"Look, she's a sweetheart!" The nurse shark circles around him curiously, and Annabeth's so afraid for him and maybe even a little bit of him (how can anyone do this?) that she's practically holding her breath.

He steps out of the water fifteen minutes later, smiling inadvertently.

"And I thought Magnus was insane," she mutters, and he grins back at her.

"Do I get to classify as one of the Florida Men™?"

She snorts, shoving him as they go to get a bite to eat.

…

"Percy, slow down," she laughs, breathless.

"But I want to chase the dawn with you," he says cheesily, and smirks, and she hates him for it, and he knows it, and he only grins wider.

"You're terrible."

"You love it."

"Fuck off."

"I'd rather fuck you."

She rolls her eyes but kisses him anyways, and he smiles like she's solved the world. She brushes his hair back with a hand absentmindedly. "Your hair is a disgrace to humanity," she teases.

"Your mom is a disgrace to humanity."

"Are you done?"

"Never."

…

"Why did I agree to this?"

"Because I said you can shove me on a Ferris wheel," Percy reminds her, floating around in the water casually.

"I fucking hate this, Percy," she groans out, and he pauses, putting his feet down on the bottom of the pool.

"You can walk," he promises. "You're not going to drown. You can walk."

"Magnus," she hisses, wrapping her arms around herself as she stands at the edge of the pool, petrified.

"You're going to be okay, Beth. It's the shallow end, and it's barely three feet," Magnus assures her, sitting at the edge of the pool in his swim trunks, sipping on lemonade.

"This fucking sucks," she says, and she can't stop cursing. "Why would I fucking do this to myself? There's so much chlorine in there, and probably dead bugs, and soft skin can cut so easily on the sides of the pools, and just shit."

"Annabeth." Magnus gives her a look, and she rakes her fingers through her hair, desperate for some form of escape. "There're stairs. You don't have to jump in."

"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this," she repeats under her breath as she takes a step into the pool. At first it feels like a bathtub, but that does little to calm her nerves considering she hasn't soaked in a tub since she was a little girl, and she certainly feels like a frightened little girl now, and she loathes the feeling of feeling fear like this.

"Relax." It's Percy, and she doesn't even realize she's squeezing her eyes shut until she feels his slippery hands on her forearms, steadying her. She's pretty sure she's hurting him by how hard she's holding on, but she's going to die if she lets go.

"C'mere," says Magnus, outstretching an arm. Droplets of water roll down his fingertips as he splashes his arm in the water. She walks in the water, and she hasn't the feeling of less gravity in so long it startles her. She reaches out for him, and Magnus pulls her between his calves, squeezing her hands firmly. He offers her some of the lemonade, but she stiffly shakes her head no.

"Germs," she explains tightly, and Percy's swimming around behind her.

"Do you still remember how to swim?"

"It's like riding a bike," she confirms, glancing over at Percy. "Doesn't mean I want to, though."

He smiles shyly. "You'll be okay." He drifts across the pool.

"Percy," she says almost pleadingly, but she recognizes the determination in his eyes, and she knows she can beg for him to come back all she wants, but he won't. "Please."

"Come on. It's maybe 25 yards," he encourages.

"Percy, seriously."

"Annabeth, I'm not going to let you drown."

Magnus lets go of her hand, albeit reluctantly, and she thinks she can't breathe anymore. It's too far. And she knows it gets deeper on Percy's end, and she doesn't want to feel the bottom go out beneath her. She shakes her head profusely, feeling her tear ducts betray her as her eyes sting, and she knows it's ridiculous—she's been eighteen for almost two weeks now, and it's going to be August in a few days—but she can't help herself.

"The CDC says, on average, 3,536 people die annually from drowning," she says shakily.

Percy shakes his head. "Why do you even know that?"

"Annabeth, you're not going to drown," Magnus reassures her. "You need to stop reading that crap anyways."

She swallows thickly, and she swims because she doesn't want the feeling of the floor leaving her feet. It's so hard to trust the water to take her to where she wants to be without feeling like she's losing control, and she goes slow, at her own pace, but Percy's only a few feet away from her, and he doesn't make her swim the last couple feet. He reaches out leisurely and pulls her tight to the wall and to him, and she clings to it like a koala. The water is so much darker under her, and she doesn't even want to look down.

"Oh, god, it's dark. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Breathe with me," Percy whispers, and she tries to focus on him, she really does. There's no Magnus, no sun, no water, no nothing but Percy. He inhales and exhales, and she mimics him. They do that a few more times.

He lets her squeeze the crap out of him, and he engulfs her in a hug, and she just breathes in his scent.

"Not going to look down?"

She shakes her head in his arm, her nails digging into the railing and then his back. He lets out a sigh.

"Done for today?"

She nods, and she's proud of herself for not crying and breaking down completely.

"That's okay. I'm proud of you for trying."

Annabeth nods again, mentally exhausted. She thinks Malcolm would be proud of her too, and it's enough. Percy helps her get out of the pool, and she's so grateful for land that she completely disregards the fact that there's probably a million bugs in the grass, and she just flops down on her back in the soft lawn, ignoring the way the blades stick to her wet skin, and she stares at the blue sky, and she breathes again, watching the clouds go by, feeling the solid ground underneath her and—

Grey eyes peer down at her. "You okay?"

She offers a weak smile. "My hair feels gross." She's quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, the scariest part about drowning is not being able to get in the air. It's like desperately reaching for it, but it's just always slipping your fingertips."

Magnus frowns with concern.

"Air is like television cable; you don't appreciate it until it's gone." Annabeth grins up at him so he knows she's okay, and he just laughs, tells her she's stupid, and pulls her up into a hug only to crush her completely.

…

"Stop whining so much," Annabeth berates, pulling Percy blindfolded over the rocks. He tries to hide his smile, but he fails miserably. "Watch your step."

Percy trips over the rock, and she catches him as he curses.

"I warned you," is all she says, and he scowls.

"You're supposed to be leading me," he points out, and she smacks his arm playfully.

Percy sniffs at the air. "It smells Earthy."

"Are you done, Sherlock?" She rolls her eyes even if he can't see.

He only grins.

"Okay, you can open your eyes," says Annabeth excitedly.

Percy pulls the bandana off his eyes to see a picnic blanket spread out on the sandy shore. There's something on it, and there's the familiar cliffs of his little grotto, but he doesn't get the chance to observe it further because Annabeth shoves him into the water.

Percy resurfaces a moment later, spitting out water and blinking the water out of his eyes.

She grins at him sweetly from the shore, and she has the gall to wave two fingers mischievously.

"Rude," he scoffs, his head bobbing above the water as he treads the water.

"I was just cooling you off," Annabeth says innocently.

"Was that for all the complaining?"

"Bingo."

He cringes cutely and hauls himself out of the water, hilariously fully-clothed and sopping wet. "Oh, god it's sticking. I hate you so much."

Annabeth only smirks, but her smugness quickly fades when he reaches for her. "Don't you dare—"

He crushes her in a hug and even twists his shirt to release the water all over her.

"You disgust me." She steps back, and the entire front side of her is soaked, her arms shiny with water. "Why?"

Percy smiles. "Now we're even." He peels his wet shirt off, shaking his hair like a dog, and Annabeth judges him. A lot. "You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you could've just asked."

"Cocky bastard," she mutters under her breath, and he laughs while Annabeth unfolds the picnic blanket. There's some fruit and other things, but mostly importantly there's a mini blue cake in the center—it can't be more than ten centimeters in diameter, and Annabeth shrugs sheepishly. Magnus had been the worst assistant baker of all time—he just sat around and ate all the ingredients, including vanilla extract (and then proceeded to cough up his lungs), the dumbass—but she worked really hard at it.

She pokes two candles into it, searching for the matchbox. She strikes a match, cupping it with her hand and lights them both up before blowing out the match systematically. "Happy 18th Birthday, Percy."

His hands are illuminated by the flames, and she wants to stay like this forever, relishing the awestruck expression on his face, memorizing the planes of his back and arms, the smile—all of it. And she knows when the end of August comes, she'll go back to California, and she knows Percy isn't her boyfriend—they never really talked about that—but he still kisses her so casually that it aches, and he traces mindless patterns on her skin, and he sneaks out at night to take her to the Indian State Historic Park, and they search for shipwrecks, and they don't find any, but he still makes it entertaining anyway, and he treats her like she's his whole world, and when he comes back from diving he's always down to try her weird food creations, and he lets her smack him with her hoodie sleeves, and he takes her with him when he goes swimming, even if she only likes to watch from afar, and she wonders if he knows exactly how little time they have left.

"You made this?" he whispers, gazing at the cake admirably.

"You like it?" She'd drawn little clamshells around the borders and put graham crackers around the base for sand, and scrawled in loopy, blue handwriting on the top was "Seaweed Brain" and a birthday wish.

"Are you kidding me? I love it." His eyes are shining, and he beams up at her. For her birthday, she'd been forced to sit through a family dinner, and her dad even flew down to Florida for a couple days, and it had sucked a bunch and been super awkward, and Percy had come later in the night to take her back to his house so they could fool around and watch movies and do nothing really. He'd made her cookies. Percy, it turns out, was really handy in the kitchen. And she'd just wanted to make his day extra special.

"Well? Make a wish, I suppose." Annabeth gestures to the quickly melting candles.

Percy hesitates, thinking probably, and he blows it out. Annabeth smiles to herself. "What'd you wish for?"

He shakes his head. "Can't tell you. It breaks the magic."

"Mermaid magic?"

"Mermaid magic," he promises.

She cuts it into four slices, and gives him two because why the hell not, and he kisses her cheek so softly she thinks she can't breathe, and she has to concentrate on cutting the slices so he can't see how pink she's turning.

"It's super cute how you blush."

"Just eat your cake," she sasses, and he laughs, tucking a rogue curl behind her hair so naturally. He has no other intention, but he just wants to be touching her all the time, and it makes the scratchiness in her throat even worse because it's already mid-August. She has two weeks before she needs to go home for college. She was accepted to Cornell for architecture. It's an incredible opportunity, and students spend a semester in their third year in Rome, and that's all the way in Ithaca, Rome, and she has no idea where Percy's going—she hasn't summoned the courage to ask yet—but she knows it won't be New York. He'll be following the water wherever he goes, and he's outgrown even little Long Island.

"What's wrong?"

Percy's developed this uncanny ability to be able to read her faces, no matter how reserved, no matter where, no matter when. Sometimes it's a relief when she's so upset, and she doesn't know how to bring it up, and sometimes it's a burden when she's trying to hide her feelings, and she can't conceal herself from him.

Annabeth looks at him oddly. "Nothing."

"Annabeth."

"I was wondering if the frosting tasted weird to you too. I don't usually like frosting, so maybe that's just it, but it seems strange," she lies, and she feels bad for it, but she tries to seem genuinely concerned with the frosting.

"It's still kickass to me. But we both know this isn't about frosting." Percy glances at her, and he's calm, as he usually is—it takes a lot to make him angry, really, truly angry—and she kind of wants to cry.

"No," she agrees softly, picking at the cake. "It's August 18th," she says after a silence.

Percy puts down his fork. "We're doing this now?"

Annabeth figures maybe she's not the only one who's been thinking about it. "No. It's your birthday. Eat your cake."

"Annabeth, I don't really care about my birthday," he whispers, and he reaches out to stroke her face. "I'm only here because it's so nice of you to want to do this for me, or else I'd be out and about, probably working, fishing with my dad."

"I care about your birthday," she whispers, and she's holding onto her last strands of sanity because she knows if they go down this road she's only going to get upset.

"I know."

"And I really, really hate that it's your birthday."

"I know."

"Because that means there's exactly thirteen more days until I'm on a flight to California to pack for New York." And she remembers what she told herself that night he first took her to this grotto, and she remembers how she promised herself she wouldn't fall too deep, but here she is now, and she's so, so screwed.

He exhales harshly. "I know," he mumbles this time, losing his resolve.

"It was nice knowing you," she tests the words, and they both wince at the same time.

"That's awful."

She nods in agreement.

"So where are you going?" Percy finally asks the question they're both thinking.

"Cornell. Architecture." She offers a rueful smile, but Percy genuinely beams at her.

"That's incredible. I knew Magnus said you were smart, but I guess I had to see it to believe it, Ivy," he teases, but even his charm can't make her smile now.

"And you?"

"I really considered Boston University, even if I'm from New York."

At that, she does manage a smile.

"They send you to New England and the Belize Barrier Reef for research, but… but it's not by real water. It's a river. It's not the same. So I ended up picking Eckerd."

"St. Petersburg, Florida?"

"It's home," Percy says, and he seems surprised by it. "Long Island will always be my other home, but Boston's river just won't cut it for me. I want to stay here, continue fishing, study what I love but not give up the real thing. My grotto would miss me, I think."

"And your sharks," she reminds him.

"And my sharks," he agrees, and his smile falters for a moment. "But biochemistry and marine biology won't fill the Wise Girl-filled space."

Her heart constricts painfully. "I know, Seaweed Brain."

"How did we fuck this up so much?" he asks no one in particular.

Annabeth lets out a sharp laugh, but it sounds awfully crackly like right before she cries. "We didn't even DTR."

"On purpose!" He groans, and she smiles morosely.

"On purpose," she concedes.

"So you're going to the north for the Syracuse area," he muses, fiddling with the picnic blanket. "And I'll be all the way in the south near Tampa," he concludes.

She bobs her head in solemn agreement. "Fuck, right?"

"Fuck," he affirms. "And long distance—"

"Sucks as much as—"

"Boston," Percy finishes, and she laughs.

"Sure, Percy. It sucks as much as Boston."

They're quiet. "It really does, though," he murmurs, and she has to agree. She can't ask him to wait for her, and he would never do that to her. He's not selfish like she is; he wants her to be free, and she has to let him go too.

"You have my number, though. Anytime you want to call me, call me." It won't be the same, but she thinks they both know that without having to say it and crush them both all over again.

"Ditto."

"I really want to kiss you," says Annabeth boldly. She meets his eyes.

"So kiss me," he whispers, and it's almost like a dare. His breath hitches.

She pulls him close to her, and she kisses him fiercely. It's nothing like usual. Usually, it's playful, and sweet, and lighthearted, and now it's desperate and needy, intense, possessive.

Percy doesn't treat her any more fragile than she treats him. It's a clash of tongue and teeth and lips, and they're both breathing heavily. Annabeth lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in as he peppers kisses down her jaw, his fingers trailing along the delicate insides of her wrists and forearms. She wants more. She wants him to touch him so she never forgets, and she unintentionally bites down on his lip, making him groan as he pulls her flush against him, onto his hips until she's straddling him as he makes her feel things she's never felt before.

"Percy," she breathes out. They've probably been out here an hour at least, and they're both dry completely from the little water escapade, but he only growls low in his throat.

"You're not gone yet," he murmurs into her ear, and she can feel the vibrations on the outer shell of her ear. "I won't sit around and pretend you are," he hums, and she hugs him so tight, but it's still not enough. It'll never be enough.

"Percy," she sighs, as if saying his name a thousand times will make this situation better, as if he's not already ingrained in her brain, as if after only a month and a half he's not already taking up half of her thinking capacity.

"Annabeth." He tries to pull away to look at her, but she doesn't want to see him for fear she'll break down entirely. "Annabeth." His voice is hoarse with emotion. She feels him hesitate.

"Don't, Percy. It'll only hurt so much worse."

"I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I don't."

"Perce—"

"I love you," he confides so softly she barely hears him. Annabeth stiffens in his touch, and she knows she wants to hear him say it a thousand more times, and she wants to scream it to the world, but now there's no going back. He loves her, and she loves him more than she ever anticipated she would, and they're only going to be thousands of miles apart for the rest of their lives. "And you're going to be amazing at Cornell." He sounds like he might be crying a little, and it sends her over the edge.

"You're going to change the world with your conservation dreams," she concedes. "You're going to make Eckerd proud."

His shirt dampens with her tears, but he doesn't say anything. They pull away, and they're both misty-eyed, and a tear rolls down Percy's cheek, and she quickly brushes it away. They smile sadly at each other, pathetically at each other, and Annabeth only sniffles more frequently.

"Don't cry," he murmurs, pulling her close to his chest again.

"You started it," she accuses softly, and he shakes with laughter.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." She traces his face. "For what it's worth, I really, really love you too." It's bittersweet, but she presses a kiss to his cheek like he's done to her a million times without thinking about it, like he's done before he runs off into the sea, like he does when he visits her early in the morning, the first habit he has when she opens the door, like he does any time he sees her.

"If you tell me to wait for you," Percy says, his voice cracking. "I'll wait forever."

"I know." She wipes away her tears, her nose runny. Even crying, he still looks like a baby seal, and it makes her heart hurt. "But I can't ask you to do that."

"Yes, you can." Percy presses his palms against hers, feeling their shared warmth.

"I can't." Annabeth shakes her head, sniffling again. "I want to so badly, but I can't. Because you don't belong to me." She's growing up; she knows it. She's learning to let go, and she knows if she lets something go, it'll be happier, and she loves Percy enough to know she wants him happy, even if that means he's happy without her.

"Who do I belong to then?" he asks fervently. "Not myself," he jokes, but he's crying, and she's pissed that she's crying, and it's not as funny when they're both puffy and upset. "I'm too irresponsible to belong to myself."

Annabeth gazes across the water. "You belong to the water, merman." It felt like the most truthful thing she had told him in a long time. He belonged to nature, and nature belonged to him, and they lived in harmony like faeries, and mermaids, and Atlantis, and this world she would never be able to follow him into even if she wanted to. And she's never wanted to more than she does now, but loving is letting go, and this is the part where she steps back, and she watches him thrive, and she's happy for him.

"And you?"

"And I belong to history," Annabeth whispers.

"You're going to build something permanent?" He squeezes her hand, pressing it against his chest so she can feel his heartbeat. It's palpitating wildly, and it only makes her heart beat even faster.

"I hope I already have," she admits, and he smiles, the same smile she's seen a million times and knows she'll never get enough of.

"You have," he promises, and he kisses her again so she can memorize him forever.

…

"I hate goodbyes," says Annabeth at the airport.

"Me too, Beth," Magnus agrees.

She ruffles his hair one last time for good nature. And she's not a totally different person—she still has her own first aid kid, and she's still worrying about who she's going to sit next to on the flight, and she thinks if it's a snorer again she's going to murder someone, but—this is letting go just as much as her obsessive fears. And she thinks they're a little bit better than they were before, and she likes to think they're a little bit better than they were before.

"Study hard, mkay?"

"Okay, mom." Magnus rolls his eyes, but he hugs her tight. "Come again next summer, maybe, if you're not too busy with school?" He's hopeful, and Annabeth smiles wide at him. Florida's beautiful, and it's still not really her thing, and she's still wary of water, but it's not the place that makes it wonderful—it's the people—and if there's a promise of coming back to Percy and Magnus again for another summer, she's open to the idea, she really is, and she thinks this is a big step forward for her.

"Eager for me to be in your hair again?" she teases, but Magnus smiles brightly then, his pearly whites gleaming in the sunlight.

"Shut up."

She snorts. "Love you too, dumbass."

"Don't stupid-up Cornell."

"Don't fall off a cliff and die."

"Don't drown."

"Magnus!" Natalie frowns at him, but Annabeth only laughs.

"I'll be busy drowning in homework. Carpal tunnel syndrome, here I come."

"Weirdo." Magnus hugs her one last time, and she squeezes him tight. He's the best support she could've asked for, and she realizes maybe her dad wasn't entirely delusional to send her here, not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

She hugs her aunt and uncle too, and Frey and her share a smile of understanding. They're both stubborn, but she loves him too anyway, and he adores her, the only girl in a line of boy cousins.

"Guess that leaves me." Percy's standing off to the side, his hands in his pockets, awkward and dorky, and this is exactly how she wants to remember him: shy, and sweet, and stupidly pretty, and she loves him.

"Who could ever forget you, Seaweed Brain?" she teases, and he crushes her in a hug. She's aware of Magnus smirking behind Percy, and she just glares at him before turning to Percy. "I expect to see you in the news."

"Oh, really?"

"Saving the sharks," she murmurs. She can feel his breath on hers, and she knows her aunt and uncle are watching, but she also doesn't know if she'll ever see him again—and she wants to believe she will, but she also knows things don't always go as planned. Maybe she'll meet him again someday, meet him where the sky touches the sea, and maybe not. The ocean is the biggest reminder of that as always. Her brother wasn't supposed to die when he was eleven, and she wasn't supposed to come to Florida seven or so years later, and she wasn't supposed to fall for a fisherman's son, and she wasn't supposed to miss her cousin as much as she does already, and she wasn't supposed to feel grateful at all to Frederick for sending her away, but she does, and it is proof that sometimes change isn't as scary as it seems.

"And you'll be there too," he reminds her. "Winning some presidential award and being one of Forbes' thirty under thirty."

She laughs. "Okay," she agrees. Magnus asked her about next summer, but she doesn't want to make promises with Percy, not when they're already emotionally destroyed. So she doesn't ask about next summer or any summer at all. She asks about the inevitable. "I'll see you?" Not when, not where, not how. She'll just see him again, somewhere, sometime, when the world decides she's fearless enough to deserve him entirely, to treasure him like he deserves to be treasured, to love him wholly and fully however he'll take her.

"Yes," he vows. "Somewhere, someday."

"You swear on it?"

"I swear on us," he finishes.

"Damn you." Annabeth feels hot tears prick at her eyes.

"If you cry, I cry," he warns, his voice heavy, and she kisses him with wild abandon, not caring who's watching, or who's not watching because it's just the two of them. "You always have to be somewhere else, don't you?"

She brushes away her tears. "Why change months of tradition?"

He sighs, letting her hand go, but she surprises him, kissing him one last time, chastely, enough to make her want to sob.

"I love you," she breathes, and before he can even say it back, she's turning her back on them all, waving her hand behind her as she goes. But she can't help herself. It feels like the first night he walked her home in the dark, and she walked into her house, and she couldn't help but glance back at him one last time. She glances behind her, if only for a split-second, but it's enough.

Magnus is hugging his parents, smiling at her, watching her go, and Percy is standing there, alone, but not really ever alone, and he offers the world's tiniest smile, and he doesn't mouth anything to her. He just stands there, and he watches her go like he did that first night, and he's quiet.

Annabeth tears her eyes away as the escalator goes down, carrying her far, far away from Florida and toward her boarding gate for California. She doesn't look back again; she doesn't need to in order to see how far she's come. Besides, looking back means not going forward, and that's not where she wants to be. Looking back means lingering in fear, and yes she's still afraid of car crashes, drowning, getting shot, falling off a cliff, accidental (or purposeful) stabbings, brain-eating lake amoeba, food reheated in plastic containers, scratched teflon pans, x-rays at the dentist's office, raw oysters, and so, so much more, but—

But she's not afraid of the future and all it promises her.

Sometimes the bravest thing you'll ever do, she's realized, is never look back.

A/N: Okay, so I would just like to acknowledge that I feel bad I can't reply to y'alls reviews for my oneshots since they're not multi-chaps, and I can't respond on the following chapter like I usually do. But I want you all to know I've read every single of your reviews for my recent oneshots, and they're so sweet, and I love them all so much and yOU guYs. Y'all keep me sane. If I was writing all this with nobody to read it, I think I'd go more insane than I already am (and that was before corona, excuse you).

Also, yes, yes ik there probably should've been more emphasis on Annabeth's fears and the building relationship between Percabeth, and the second half is trash, and I just put like two mini time-lapse things between to pretend I developed it well, but it's like 3 in the morning, and I've worked on this all day devotedly, and who even cares—it's a sappy, somewhat trope-heavy story, okay? Let's pretend the development is not as sloppy as it is lol.

Also, I have world-shattering news: I am considering turning this into a two-shot. That's right; alert the press mfs. The second part won't be nearly this long, but I can definitely see why you'd want a happier ending, and I am, once again, maybe considering making a happy second part, so let me know what you think via reviews or PMs. Ik I usually just leave y'all on that bittersweet boat (pun intended hue hue) and call it a day, but I wanted to make something happy for you guys after posting two v existential oneshots, almost like a break from my madness lmao, and because this is entirely for you guys, if you want me to extend it, I might actually be nice for once (who are you and what have you done with kit ikr). I shall leave the story on 'in-progress' just in case.

Anyways. As usual, stay safe, and I hope you liked this.

Kit xx