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the wind had settled into a low whine outside, like it was tired of screaming.
it slipped through the broken windows of the old station, winding between splintered benches and rusted vending machines, stirring the air like something restless. the cold had a weight to it now. heavy. slow. like the world itself was exhausted. even the snow seemed quieter than before, drifting down in thick, soundless sheets that softened the edges of everything.
the station creaked under the pressure of it—groaning like old wood beneath too many memories. frost had crawled up the walls and across the tile floor, threading into the cracks, turning every surface brittle. the silence wasn’t empty, but full—bloated with what hadn’t been said. it stretched long and wide, settling deep into the bones of the place.
percy’s breath fogged faintly in the air. he sat slouched against the wall, legs stretched in front of him, shoulders hunched beneath his jacket. snow clung to his sleeves and melted slowly into the fabric. his fingers, red with cold, tapped absently against his knee like he didn’t notice.
“you know,” he said suddenly, voice low, breaking the stillness, “i was scared you’d say yes.”
annabeth blinked. she turned toward him, just slightly. her eyes narrowed, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
“to what?” she asked.
“when artemis offered,” he said. “when she asked if you wanted to be a hunter.”
her heart pulled tight in her chest, sharp and slow at the same time. something old and half-healed stirred behind her ribs.
she remembered. of course she did.
the night had been cold, like this one. the world was raw, torn open. thalia had been radiant, golden with victory. the sky had been too quiet. and artemis—artemis had looked at annabeth like she already knew the answer. like it was carved into her bones.
and for one long breath, annabeth had wondered if she was right.
“i didn’t know you saw that,” she said, quiet now.
“i saw everything,” percy replied, his voice just as soft. “i saw you hesitate.”
her fingers twisted in the edge of the blanket wrapped around her. the fabric had frayed at the corners. she kept pulling at a loose thread, watching it curl.
“i was tired,” she admitted. “i didn’t know if i had anything else left in me.”
“i wouldn’t have blamed you,” he said. “not really. but gods, annabeth. i was—i was terrified.”
she glanced at him.
his eyes weren’t angry. they weren’t accusing. just… sad. tired in a way that felt familiar.
“terrified?” she repeated.
“yeah,” he said. “because if you’d gone, that would’ve been it. i wouldn’t’ve gotten to…” he trailed off, shrugged a little. “i don’t know. do what we’re doing now.”
“freeze to death in a haunted train station?”
he laughed. short, breathy. “exactly.”
she was smiling too, but it felt fragile. thin. like glass under pressure.
“i didn’t want to leave you,” she said.
he swallowed. looked down at his hands. they were scraped at the knuckles, like always.
“you didn’t say anything,” she said, after a beat.
“i didn’t think i was allowed to.”
her chest twisted. it wasn’t anger, or regret. just something raw.
she shifted closer, slow and easy, until her knee brushed his. his hand was next to hers on the ground—palm open, fingers relaxed. not reaching. not pulling. just there.
“when i said no,” she said, voice low, “and you asked me to dance, i thought… maybe you were saying it.”
“i was,” he said.
she blinked.
“i didn’t know how else to say it. i still don’t.” he exhaled. “but dancing with you felt like the closest i’d ever gotten.”
her throat tightened. she remembered the flicker of candles, the murmur of half-silent voices, the way he’d held out his hand like he wasn’t sure she’d take it. how she had anyway.
“we were awful,” she said.
percy smiled. “we were.”
“your timing was all off.”
“you were bossy.”
“you were distracted.”
he didn’t argue. “i was,” he said. “i kept looking at you like if i blinked, you’d vanish.”
her heart ached. not sharply—more like something bruised from too much use. “i remember you kept your hand on my back even after the music stopped,” she whispered.
“i didn’t want to let go.”
they looked at each other. something opened in the space between them—wide and full of things they hadn’t named.
then percy straightened a little.
“okay.”
“okay?” she echoed.
“dance with me now.”
her eyebrows lifted. “here?”
“yeah.”
“there’s no music.”
“don’t need it.”
“there’s barely enough room.”
“there’s enough.”
she stared at him for a long second. then she stood. the blanket slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her ankles, forgotten. her skin prickled at the cold, but she didn’t flinch.
he rose too, slower, brushing snow out of his hair.
they didn’t speak. he held out his hand. she took it.
her hand found his shoulder. his rested at her waist. they didn’t interlace fingers. didn’t need to.
they started to move. slow. clumsy. they swayed in an uneven circle, boots dragging against frostbitten tile. it wasn’t elegant. it wasn’t even really a dance.
but they didn’t stop.
“still bad at this,” percy muttered.
“we’re better,” annabeth said. “barely.”
his hand settled more firmly at her back. hers slid up to the base of his neck, fingers curling there like they’d been waiting for this.
the cold faded around the edges. the world narrowed. the silence wrapped around them like a second skin.
“when i said i was scared,” he said suddenly.
she looked up. “what?”
“that you’d say yes,” he said. “to artemis.”
her breath hitched.
“you were standing there,” he went on, “and she looked at you like you were already halfway gone. like she was sure. and i thought—i don’t know. that you’d disappear and i wouldn’t know what to do.”
she looked at him for a long moment. his mouth was a little tight, but not closed off. not guarded.
“i almost did,” she said softly.
he nodded. “i know.”
she stepped a little closer. her forehead brushed beneath his chin. his hand moved, slow and careful, up her spine. they stopped moving. just stood there, swaying in place.
“you were the only reason i didn’t say yes,” she said.
his breath caught.
he didn’t reply. just pulled her in a little tighter. like he didn’t trust the moment to hold unless he did.
she didn’t pull away.
the station creaked. the wind whispered through shattered windows. snow fell around them like ash. time slowed.
“do you ever think about it?” she asked, voice muffled against his jacket.
“about what?”
“what it would’ve been like,” she murmured. “if we’d met… before all this. without the monsters. the prophecies. the gods breathing down our necks.”
he was quiet. then, “yeah. all the time.”
“what do you see?”
he breathed in. she felt it more than she heard it.
“you sitting in the front row of some class i’m definitely failing.”
she smiled, lips against his collar. “and me trying to copy your notes.”
“you’d be terrible at it.”
“i am terrible at it.”
“i’d pretend not to notice. for a while.”
“then what?”
“then i’d call you out on it. obviously.”
“of course.”
they stopped swaying. they were just standing there now, wrapped around each other like they didn’t know how to let go.
percy’s chin rested lightly on her head. annabeth’s fingers curled in his sleeve.
“you wouldn’t have liked me,” he said after a while.
“yes i would’ve.”
“you’re way too smart for me.”
“you’re better than you think.”
“you say that a lot.”
“and you never believe me.”
he didn’t answer. just held her closer.
“i think,” she said, slower now, “i would’ve fallen for you even faster.”
the words slipped out again, gentler this time. not startling. not armored.
he stilled, then pulled back—not far, just enough to look at her, like he wanted to read it in her face. the corner of his mouth went up, hinting at his signature smirk. “say that again.”
“no.”
his mouth tilted. “coward.”
“hypocrite.”
and he laughed again. a real one this time, small and crooked, like it belonged only to her.
the sound of it made something warm curl in her chest. the last few months had been filled with noise—monsters, prophecies, battles. always on the move. but this—this moment was just theirs. soft and quiet, held together by the space between breaths.
he leaned his forehead against hers, and for the first time in a long time, the world felt a little less heavy. the cold air around them, the creaking station, the dying wind—none of it mattered. they were just two people in the middle of nowhere, trying to find a little peace.
“you know,” percy said, breaking the silence again, his voice lower now, “i don’t think i ever really believed you could feel that way about me.”
she didn’t need to ask what he meant. she could hear it in his voice—the same disbelief that had been there from the beginning. the same way he had doubted every good thing that had come his way, like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“maybe that’s because you’ve never let yourself believe you’re worth it,” she replied, voice quiet but sure. she tilted her head slightly, meeting his eyes with a soft, steady gaze. “but you are. you always have been.”
he swallowed. his hand moved again, just a gentle motion, like he couldn’t help himself—sliding up her back, as if anchoring himself in the moment.
“i don’t know how you do that,” he said, voice hoarse. “make me believe it.”
“because i do,” she whispered. “i really do.”
he didn’t answer, just stayed there, his arm wrapping around her a little tighter, pulling her closer like he was afraid if he didn’t, she might slip away.
and for a long time, they didn’t say anything more. the silence was different now, more comfortable. it was a silence built on the weight of all the things they hadn’t said yet—things that didn’t need to be said. because they already understood each other in ways that no words could capture.
percy’s hand moved again, but this time, it wasn’t just a casual touch. it was slow, deliberate, the way someone might hold onto something fragile but precious.
her heart stuttered, but it wasn’t fear this time. it was warmth. the kind of warmth that spread through her chest, through her limbs, like it had been hiding all this time, waiting for the right moment.
he looked down at her, eyes soft, almost hesitant. “we’ll figure it out, right? all the stuff we haven’t figured out yet?”
she nodded, more certain than she had ever been. “yeah. we will.”
they both knew that there was still a lot they didn’t know, a lot of uncertainties ahead. but right now, in this moment, it didn’t matter. they had each other, and that was enough.
finally, she broke the stillness. “we should sleep,” she said, voice low, tired but content.
“probably,” he agreed, but there was a hesitation there—a reluctance to let go of this feeling, this moment.
“just a little longer,” she whispered, her head sinking into his chest once again, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“okay.”