Disclaimer: Nope

Character(s)- Luke Castellan/Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson

Author'sNote: AU people. AU

According to you: I'm boring, I'm moody, and you can't take me any place

According to you, I suck at telling jokes, 'cause I always give it away

But according to him

I'm beautiful, incredible—he can't get me out of his head

According to him: I'm funny, irresistible—everything he ever wanted

According to You

"Oh. And I suppose you're just perfect?" Annabeth Chase-Castellan's voice carried itself cuttingly through the brisk night air. She took the stair steps to her apartment two at a time. "Why don't you jump off a bridge, Luke?"

"Why don't I? There's obviously nothing to look forward to in two weeks." Luke Castellan took the steps three at a time. Annabeth had to scurry and sometimes sprint to get just a little out of his possible range of grabbing her.

When she stumbled to her front door, her keys already jammed in and turning, Annabeth threw the most scathing glare over her shoulder.

"There's nothing I'm looking forward to either," she grumbled.

Her door opened. Annabeth almost tripped on the ledge up to her carpet. And she forgot to take her shoes off when she stomped in.

"That's great then!" He caught the door from being slammed shut. "And it's Mr. Perfect to you!"

Luke plodded in after her, his seven o' clock or whatever time (who cares about that?) shadow looking more and more un-attractive (because she once thought the rugged look was hot). They were now about as dark as the circles under those pallid blue eyes.

Annabeth once thought those eyes sparkled like a river with slanting moonshine.

Now she just wished they'd stop looking at her.

Surprisingly, it was him who broke the stare.

"What's your deal, Annabeth?"

She didn't answer.

"I mean… just—why now? You've never been this emotional…" Luke seemed to freeze in place. "It's not, I mean, it's not your 'time' is it?"

Annabeth went red in the face.

"No."

"Then why?"

Annabeth tried to put it into words. She really did.

"I'm just tired Luke. You're not—"

"I'm not good enough for you all of a sudden?" Interruption. She hated interruption.

"No, no," Annabeth pinched her nose from stress, "just that. You're not the same."

"So you're breaking up with me? Because I'm not the same boy from high school?" He laughed. "That's life's point, Annabeth, I have to change."

"Luke, you're being seriously stupid."

But he wasn't listening. He was parading around her small living room like it was his. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. Actually, you know what? I think I know just who your bounce-back kid could be."

He swaggered to the coffee table. And to Annabeth's growing dismay, he picked something up.

A picture frame. One that hadn't been right-side-up in a long time.

"Percy Jackson? I haven't seen him in ages, Luke. You know that." She tried to conceal the misery in her tone.

Meanwhile, Luke was being a dick. "Oh, but I'm sure he'd love to hear from you again. He was the one you left for me, right? What was he? Your first sweetheart? First crush? Or, maybe, he was just the first to—"

Annabeth put both her hands to her head. She felt like exploding. But her words were whispered words. "Shut up Luke. Just shut up."

He gave a laugh, actually doubling-over, one hand draped over his stomach.

Oh my God, he's insane.

Still holding the picture tightly, he asked in the most obnoxious tone. "Am I right then? Was he your first?"

She gulped, but because of painful memories, not because of him.

"God," she whispered, "Why did I even think about marrying you?"

The picture that had so greatly taken a toll on her was set down as Luke's eyes flashed with his temper. And suddenly, he was very solemn and serious.

"I'm not the idiot who said yes, Annabeth."

"Luke—" she stopped.

Wait…

Idiot?

Idiot?

She found it amazingly easy and satisfactory to say: "Get out."

Her fists were shaking. Her arms were rattling at her sides.

Luke was staring at her, looking at her from head to toe. He had the expression of a bomb technician realizing he just made a mistake.

"Get out!"

She advanced in on him, so he had no choice but to back up to the doorway.

He didn't move, but Annabeth slammed the door anyway, not caring about the fingers peeking out. They were begging to get crushed.

It disgusted her to think that she once melted at his touch.

So she laughed—just a dark chuckle—when he yelped at the pain.

And then the door completely closed, and Annabeth—poor, broken, confused little Annabeth— only had the slits of light coming from the curtained porch to see.

Before she knew it, she was on the ground and her head was in her hands, and her fingers were angrily pulling at any blonde strands they could reach, twisting and twisting.

She had gotten "prettied-up" for him. This was their date night. She went through all that trouble (made her friends Silena and Thalia go through all the trouble, actually) to look pretty for him. She never got pretty for anybody. Just for Luke. Because this was their celebratory dinner. Because the last time they went out, he proposed.

So tonight, they were supposed to be happy. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. Glowing.

But. Then he just had to be an ass about her showing up late.

It's not like it was her fault there was traffic. And that was what she told him. She was bordering dangerously irritated already (because there they were, at a bus stop—him in his work clothes and she in her deep blue dress. She wasn't the only one who screwed up. The fool forgot the reservations) because he kept blaming her for everything lately. For the past God-knows-how-long, it was "dinner's too cold" this and "can't you shut up for a second? I need to think" that.

But when he mumbled something like—and these were his exact words—how her "pointless get-up" got them late and ruined his special evening, she lost it. She ended up jogging away in high heels to catch a taxi, secretly half-hoping that he would run after her.

He didn't.

And he still had the nerve to meet her at her doorstep.

A strangled sound found its way out of her. Then more came out, and more and more. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth sob, she realized her hands were wet. She was crying.

She never cried for anybody. Only twice has she ever cried—both because of a boy.

Now.

And the other time…

Her eyes flitted to the picture. It'd been years since she let it stay up, since she'd seen it. And for good reason.

She was so quick to blow at Luke calling her an idiot. Because nobody else has ever called her that to her face. No one. She was always obviously top. She never slacked off, never screwed up. She always made the best decisions.

Getting up was no easy feat, but she did so anyway. When she was up, she almost staggered to the center table. She cracked her knuckles before picking the silvery-lined frame up.

But apparently, Annabeth thought, I screwed up the most important decision of my life.

She wiped her eyes and thanked Thalia for being so smart for recommending a water-proof brand of mascara.

A knock on the door.

"Annabeth? Annabeth, baby, I'm still here."

She didn't respond. She was too busy looking and studying the picture.

Her and him. Annabeth and Percy. She was taking the picture he was trying to look away from. It was a sunny day, because his hair was tinted and they were laughing and she looked so happy. They both looked so happy.

Memories of sun-filled beaches and hilarious trips to museums… memories of tanned limbs and black hair and green eyes.

She never had to get pretty for Percy Jackson. Percy loved her without the goop on her face—and was never hesitant in telling her so.

She never had a fight with Percy. The biggest squabble they ever had was probably over him wanting to watch an MMA fight while Nat. Geo was showing a documentary on snow owls that she just had to watch.

Even then, Percy let her have her way. But he was never one to be pushed over either.

Percy never called her names. Unless it was playful and joking and carefree. And unless it was beautiful, or bright, or amazing.

She never cried because of Percy.

She cried because of what she did to Percy.

How could she have been so stupid?

"Annabeth. Listen. We can talk this out. You and me, always and forever. Remember?"

She snorted. How many times had he used that line?

"Remember, girl?"

She sighed through her nose, and said "I'm not a dog, you creep."

Another knock. Then multiple knocks. Soon, Luke was barraging the door.

"Annabe-e-e-eth" He drew the word out, but the only feeling Annabeth could dig up was pity.

She stayed silent. The knocks gradually disappeared.

"… Annabeth?"

She knew what she had to do.

Or, at the very least, what she wanted to do.

Annabeth's hand found its own way to the purse she always kept around. It also found her phone. And dialed a specific, always-remembered number, all on its own

And before she could even begin to think about the consequences, before her head could come up with all the ways this could possibly go wrong, her voice spoke out through the lump in her throat.

"Percy? Hi. It's been a long time hasn't it?" She gave a nervous laugh. He, confused but polite, asked who it is.

In a trance, she made haste to take off the diamond that weighed so heavily on her finger.

"It's Annabeth. Annabeth Chase."

Everything is opposite; I don't feel like stopping it

So baby tell me what I got to lose

He's into me for everything I'm not,

According to you

Song: According to You by: Orianthi

A/N: For Mimzie199 ;)

And awww snap. They took out my asterisk borders o_o T.T