Percabeth A to Z
A-Architect
Wednesday was Olympus day. Every Wednesday, Annabeth would go to the Empire State Building and check on the progress the Harpies had made in rebuilding Olympus. For the first three months they dated, when she finished up, she would swing by Percy's apartment and they would go for a walk. She loved Manhattan, or rather, Manhattan's architecture. The bridges, the Skyscrapers, the tunnels, the three or four arches spread around the borough; Every bit of it was beautiful to look at, but for Annabeth it was so much more.
In September, they went down each intersection by his apartment, walking down the long blocks, crossing streets, and never turning off the seemingly endless streets until it was time to go home. North, then South, East and finally West. In October, they went North and followed the first right at the first intersection. In November, they went West, and then followed the same pattern they had in October.
They never talked, and that was what made it special.
In the second week in December, the last Wednesday before camp, Percy held Annabeth's hand, and smiled to himself. He loved that for the first time in a long time, Annabeth stared at something for a long time without calculating how to take it down. She never told Percy about the buildings; she would just watch them, take them in, and he would watch her. He grew up in Manhattan; he had seen it all, whether it was during the Battle of Manhattan or just growing up and moving around the city. School to school, apartment to apartment. He loved that she loved them, loved that she was so perplexed by their beauty. These weren’t facts she could read about in books, they weren’t monsters, they were something she had a passion for. That’s what made it so special.
They didn't talk about their walks after she left Mount Olympus to hand blueprints to builders; they never even made plans to do such a thing. They just did it. Sometimes they held hands, sometimes he would put his arm around her and look down as she looked up, staring into the sky. On their walks, they were normal. It was easy to forget the streaks in their hair, almost grown out, the knife in her book bag, or the pen in his pocket. They were normal, they were alive, and they were human.
That last Wednesday they would ever walk, there were words spoken. She stopped to stare at St. Paul’s Chapel, and her eyes shined. He looked at her, he watched her stare at it, he felt her hand warm in his, and when she turned, ready to go the other way as the sun set on their evening, he tilted her chin and kissed her. A quick kiss, not an underwater kiss, not one in a volcano, or ones hidden from their camp-mates. A kiss that normal New York teenagers shared, a dumpster in an alley spoiling the air, their breath heating the crisp air between them and leaving little clouds when he pulled back.
She looked up at him, and before she could ask why, he spoke. “I love you.”He put his arm around her, and they walked home.
In September, they went down each intersection by his apartment, walking down the long blocks, crossing streets, and never turning off the seemingly endless streets until it was time to go home. North, then South, East and finally West. In October, they went North and followed the first right at the first intersection. In November, they went West, and then followed the same pattern they had in October.
They never talked, and that was what made it special.
In the second week in December, the last Wednesday before camp, Percy held Annabeth's hand, and smiled to himself. He loved that for the first time in a long time, Annabeth stared at something for a long time without calculating how to take it down. She never told Percy about the buildings; she would just watch them, take them in, and he would watch her. He grew up in Manhattan; he had seen it all, whether it was during the Battle of Manhattan or just growing up and moving around the city. School to school, apartment to apartment. He loved that she loved them, loved that she was so perplexed by their beauty. These weren’t facts she could read about in books, they weren’t monsters, they were something she had a passion for. That’s what made it so special.
They didn't talk about their walks after she left Mount Olympus to hand blueprints to builders; they never even made plans to do such a thing. They just did it. Sometimes they held hands, sometimes he would put his arm around her and look down as she looked up, staring into the sky. On their walks, they were normal. It was easy to forget the streaks in their hair, almost grown out, the knife in her book bag, or the pen in his pocket. They were normal, they were alive, and they were human.
That last Wednesday they would ever walk, there were words spoken. She stopped to stare at St. Paul’s Chapel, and her eyes shined. He looked at her, he watched her stare at it, he felt her hand warm in his, and when she turned, ready to go the other way as the sun set on their evening, he tilted her chin and kissed her. A quick kiss, not an underwater kiss, not one in a volcano, or ones hidden from their camp-mates. A kiss that normal New York teenagers shared, a dumpster in an alley spoiling the air, their breath heating the crisp air between them and leaving little clouds when he pulled back.
She looked up at him, and before she could ask why, he spoke. “I love you.”He put his arm around her, and they walked home.
Please update! I love it asdfghjkl its amazing <3
9/30/14