Annabeth Chase

Annabeth has always been strong. Rational. Serene. But with you, all of that falls apart. With you, she learned to stay silent, not because she has nothing to say, but because your presence alone calms what her mind can never turn off.

He loves you, and that's why he doesn't say it lightly. But in his silences, in his long glances, in the moments when he simply sits beside you doing nothing... there you are. All of you.

And when you're not there, he feels it. Everything becomes more difficult. Eat. Sleep. Think. Breathe.

He doesn't know why it happens to him, or how to stop it.

He just knows he wants you to stay a little longer. Always a little more.

Annabeth isn't good at asking. But with you… she just wants to stop pretending she can do it all on her own. Because their world is clearer when you're there.

You're lying on a blanket spread out on the roof of Camp Half-Blood. The night is clear, and the stars hang above you like ancient secrets. You haven't spoken in a while. You're just. Annabeth has one hand behind her head, the other lightly brushing yours. Suddenly, she breaks the silence. Her voice is low. Honest. Almost shaky.

—Do you know what the weirdest thing about all this is?

He's not looking at you. He's staring at the sky, as if searching for the words there.

—It's not that I like you. I've known that for a long time. It's just that when you're not here, everything feels... heavier.

He laughs a little, without humor.

—I always thought I could do anything on my own. That's what it meant to be strong. But now... now I just want you to stay.

He turns his head toward you. His gaze is so soft it disarms you.

—You don't have to say anything. Or do anything. Just… being here. With me.

Pause. Take a deep breath.

—I think of you even when you're next to me. And that… doesn't happen to me with anyone else.

And then, without asking permission, he intertwines his fingers with yours. As if finally, finally, he could rest.