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Percy watches across the auditorium as Annabeth unthinkingly flips her braids over her shoulder, a smooth, practiced motion he’s seen many times before. The movement draws attention to the fine, gentle slope of her shoulder. The flat planes of her collarbones barely peeking above her shirt.
Her Camp Halfblood beads sway when she leans over to shuffle a stack of papers into a pile.
Whenever she’s talking to watches too, his eyes honed in on the fall of her hair. On the entirety of Annabeth in general.
He looks almost starstruck. Under his breath, Percy scoffs.
Annabeth doesn’t notice, still talking. Explaining things with one hand as she packs her backpack and zips it up with the other.
She hasn’t seen him yet. Hasn’t clocked Percy hovering in the entryway of the lecture hall, waiting to pick her up from class so they can walk home together.
It gives him an unfortunate view of this absolute random—who Annabeth has never mentioned whenever she talks at length about this architecture class—spending a significantly long time looking at what Percy can only assume is the curve of his girlfriend’s jawline.
Justifiable, he supposes. She’s gorgeous and smart and capable, but also, she’s Percy’s.
Whatever his name is follows Annabeth up the aisle, hovering close behind her as she shoulders her backpack on.
Percy can pinpoint the moment Annabeth sees him waiting, watches the smile curve across her face. Her eyes light up, mirth and happiness and the tiniest bit of relief evident.
She says his name, pleased and quiet, and when she stops beside him, he loops an arm around her shoulders.
Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he smirks, just a bit cheekily, at Annabeth’s open-mouthed classmate.
Percy doesn’t need to know his name after all.