Home is Where the Heart Is—for Kirsten.
Percy is only sixteen years old but he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. His sea green eyes scan the crowd that has gathered around the Greek warship, waiting for the plank to be lowered and its occupants to come off the ship.
Everyone is expectant, weapons in hand, but Percy could not care less. All he wants to be is closer, closer, closer. He raises his gaze to the ship, his eyes scanning for a blond figure as people start pouring out from the cockpit. Some of the faces look familiar, like should he should know who they are but he knows they’re not what he’s looking for. Not really. And then at last, she steps out. She’s standing tall and proud, just like he remembers, face emotionless and never wavering in challenge. Her silver eyes look out to the crowd below them, like she’s trying to analyze the Romans in purple shirts, searching for answers. Gray finally meet Green and she steps forward to get a better look.
And then the floor is taken from under him. Percy stumbles forward, gaze never leaving that gray-eyed stare that’s meeting his. He pushes forward in the crowd, pulling away from the fingers grasping at his purple t-shirt, trying to keep him away, from doing something rash—something so against the strict Roman rules he’s learned over the past month. He can feel Reyna’s questioning glare, Frank’s and Hazel’s confused looks. Maybe they think he’s finally gone mad. But Percy doesn’t care, he only pushes harder.
Annabeth, Annabeth Annabeth… his heart beats harder the closer he gets. She’s still on deck, fighting against the hold of a blond boy who’s trying to keep her in the ship. Percy watches her step away, rolling her shoulders back and standing taller, giving the boy a stare that would make even the gods quaver. He hears her mutter something fierce and determined to the blond in the silence that surrounds them and he lets her go, stepping resignedly to a side.
As she comes down the plank, the crowd begins staring between them—some of them connecting the dots—and blissfully starts to part letting them pass.
They meet in the middle, stopping a couple of feet from each other, suddenly hesitant but gaze never breaking. Her gray eyes are full of questions and Percy knows she’s wondering if he remembers. It’s easy to slip back into PercyandAnnabeth he realizes then, because after all this time he can still read her like a book. Hera might have made his brain make his memories of her a bit blurry, but he knows his heart never forgot her.
He steps closer, careful as to not startle her. Percy’s eyes scan the bags under her eyes, her camp necklace, her faded orange t-shirt (too big to be her own) and the celestial bronze knife at her hip. She looks like she’s been running a marathon for the last eight months—and maybe she has, in more ways than one. She has never looked more beautiful in his eyes.
“Annabeth?” he asks softly, only for her to hear. Her breath catches and suddenly she’s in his arms. He buries his face into her golden curls, cradling her cheeks in his hands, his fingers trying to reacquaint themselves with her features. Her arms wrap around his back, holding close and she trembles with withheld emotion, knowing that this is not the place to let herself go. There will be time for her to cry later, for all the feelings she’s kept buried for the past eight months to be free (because after all the only person she ever allowed herself to be carefree around had been missing) but right now? All her brain, all her heart can say is Percy, Percy, Percy, because after all this time he remembers.
Annabeth pulls back a little after a while, placing her forehead against his and letting herself be lost in the depth of his eyes that are sparkling like the ocean on a sunny summer day—that special shade reserved only for her. Percy smiles and rubs his nose softly to hers, coaxing a blinding grin from her. Time has seemingly slowed down and they take the chance to revel in the fact that they’re together, it’s no longer just a dream, a memory. She fists her hands in his clothes and laughs a little.
“Are you really wearing a toga, Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth asks him, her voice teasing and affectionate and so her that Percy’s knees buckle a little. He huffs out a laugh at her dig—so reminiscent of the first time they really met—and his heart beats love, love, love this time. It is then when he closes the gap and kisses her softly, reveling in the familiarity of it, eyes sliding close and forgetting about the rest of the world—forgetting the lonely, lost months. He lets the feeling overwhelm him and presses even closer to her, enveloped in their personal bubble.
It is only them in that moment. PercyandAnnabeth his mind echoes again—it can never be one without the other. They were always a package deal. Green and gray eyes. Drool and Princess curls. Greek lessons and chariot races. Training sessions at the arena and picking strawberries from the fields. Nights by the lake and by the campfire. Pirate ships. Lighthing thieves and Labyrinths. Gray streaks and stars. Crashed school dances and the weight of the sky. Poison knives and Olympus. Blue cupcakes and underwater kisses.
Percy is only sixteen years old and he feels like he’s walked to Olympus and back, but he is finally home.
Original art from burdge bug. I would really love feedback on this because it’s so long since I’ve really written something.
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