The Hate Between Us (Percabeth&Solangelo)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Homesick

Annabeth POV:

My hand hesitated. Hovering, shaking, over the door handle, unsure of whether to go in. Unsure of whether to knock.

Just like I had all those years ago, outside Percy's apartment, fighting every urge inside of me that was telling me to burst into that room and tell him that I wanted to take it all back, I wanted to start again, I wanted to forget what he had done and just love him as I had before.

It had been the very last day of summer after senior year. I had returned from my travels with Piper and, unwillingly, my feet had led me through the streets of Manhattan, right up to his door. I was wearing the Coney Island shirt he had given me; couldn't even remember putting it on, couldn't ignore how much it smelt like him (like sea breeze), couldn't ignore the way that made me feel. But there I was, despite my best intentions, waiting outside his door the day before he left for good, not wanting him to go and knowing that if I told him in that moment how I truly felt we could return to our eternity together so easily. Too easily.

But then I heard his Mom's voice – Sally, more a Mother to me than any woman that had come before her – calling out to her son. "Percy, did you want to bring this sweater to Harvard?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly muffled through the door. And so my hand retracted, remembering why it had been hesitating in the first place, and I walked away. Not once looking back.

It's not that he got to go to Harvard, and I didn't – we always knew that it would be one and not the other, I was prepared for that to be him. It was just the fact that he had taken that option away from me. Remorselessly. Unthinkingly. Emotionlessly. As if he had forgotten me completely. He took away my opportunity for Chiron to say that to me – "Annabeth, did you want to bring this sweater to Harvard?". And that disloyalty... it was just so un-Percy-like. I just knew he had changed; he wasn't my Percy any more, and I hesitated to try to find mine again.

But this time, five years later, I pushed passed my doubts and knocked on the door.

"Hello?" His voice called from somewhere inside.

"It's Annabeth!" I called back. I could imagine the smile on his face. I forced a smile on to mine.

Five seconds later, he opened the door and hugged me before I could even say hello. He was topless, my arms brushed against his hot skin, I rolled my eyes against his shoulder.

"James," I breathed, stepping away from the hug first. He frowned at the sound of my voice.

"What's up? Come on in," he said quickly, stepping aside so that I could walk into his familiar studio apartment. It was super clean, as usual, with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked neatly and alphabetically. The king-sized bed I had recently spent my nights in was made pristinely, the marble kitchen was sparkling clean, and the sliding doors that opened onto the balcony revealed a set of weights lined up in size order on the floor, to show that he had just been working out. "You're early, I wasn't expecting you 'til later."

I nodded distractedly and took a seat on his grey couch. James' Dad ran a major energy company in London – the details of which James said he wasn't allowed to share much of – which meant that this was just one of the many luxury studio apartments in Canary Wharf James owned. In other words, he was rich – or, more accurately, his Dad was – and I couldn't much complain about that when it meant I got to hang out in places like this.

"I actually needed to-"

"-Cocktail?" He interrupted, jogging towards the kitchen area. "I bought some stuff to make cocktails later, but we can start now. No such thing as drinking too early, right?"

"No I'm..." I began, but then thought against my better judgement. This might run a bit more smoothly if we got drunk. "Yeah, why not?"

James grinned and winked. I never liked it when he winked, it didn't suit him. But the next thing I knew he was playing music through the speaker system and whizzing away in the kitchen, making his cocktails, so I was forced to sit uncomfortably on the couch, thinking about what next to say. I think he wanted me to join him in the kitchen, but instead I focused on the view through the sliding doors so as to avoid looking at him. It was a hot day, the sun was still high in the sky despite it being evening now, and I was grateful for the air-conditioning.