Chapter Text
The "Day in the Life" vlog drops on the official Netflix accounts and it’s like everything explodes.
At this point she should have been used to the media parade, and maybe she needed to block mentions of herself on Twitter, but Annabeth was nothing if not prideful and she couldn’t help but be curious about the reactions of the audience.
And at that, the reaction was immediate, chaotic, and entirely out of her control.
The marketing team had edited the footage to show off every moment between her and Percy. In fact, the moment where Percy threw her the dagger and the showy catch she had pulled off while blushing, had been converted into a GIF that was currently trending if her twitter homepage was anything to go by. They looked good together but Annabeth couldn’t let herself linger on that thought.
She clicks on a Twitter thread accepting that she lacks any sense of self-preservation at this point, her eyes scanning the comments.
@demigodhq: THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER?!? The script slip-up where he almost called her a nickname, am I crazy or did anyone else catch that… Oh they are absolutely together or they hate each other's guts there is no in between #Percabeth
@jackson_updates: Can we talk about the sword training section though!! It literally feels like they’re fighting the urge to rip each other's clothes off the tension is insane.
@sadie_kane_fan: Sadie is meant to be a literal goddess but who is she? She has zero main credits and suddenly she’s starring next to PERCY JACKSON? She looks so cold in the interviews though, hope she isn't some diva ruining his return to TV.
@ClubJackson: Percy, percy, percy, ugh he’s so hot. Less of her (you know who) pls! #PercyJackson #HalfBloodChronicles
Annabeth closes the app, dropping her phone face-down on the desk. The notes of a Mitski song play in the background quietly, the perfect backdrop.
The lyrics caress her ears,
“I don't need the world to see
That I've been the best I can be, but
I don't think I could stand to be
Where you don't see me”
Some of the words in the comments sting, just as she expected. But as she sits there, staring at the black screen, Mitski singing sadly, a strange unprecedented reaction occurs. Her overwhelming sentiment isn’t panic or embarrassment.
It’s a profound, who cares.
She’s spent her whole life caring, caring too much, caring too hard, caring when no one else did. She sits there and she stares at the words until they blur and she simply can’t get herself to care.
Maybe it’s because she let the online comments get to her enough that she actually hurt Percy's feelings or maybe she’s just exhausted from letting faceless, nameless people determine her value. But the realization settles deep into her bones.
It doesn’t matter.
She could be perfect, in every way, she could look the part and deliver a performance that won awards, she could go to Stanford and have perfect attendance, and they would still find something to say.
The realization is surprisingly fast and just as freeing.
And with it comes determination. No more hiding, no more over-analyzing, no more making herself small just for the approval of a small portion of an audience who never cared to get to know her in the first place.
With that, she steps back from her phone and takes a deep breath.
When she finally gets up from her chair, she feels lighter than she has since she stepped foot onto the set for the first time, some unknown tension at the back of her skull loosening and letting her breathe.
And fuck it, Mitski is right. It doesn’t matter what the world sees, but it does matter if those she cares about can’t see her because she won’t let them.
This, all of this, had led her to pushing away someone who actually truly cared about her. Someone so good and kind.
Percy’s eyes flash in her mind for a second and she winces.
But as she thinks about the press junket tomorrow, the bright lights, the intrusive questions, and the fact that she would have to sit directly next to a man she appeared to have just deeply hurt only mere hours ago, Annabeth feels it all set in stone. She realizes something that she thinks she knew all along.
The cameras will turn on whether she likes it or not. And she has absolutely no idea how to protect herself from the spotlight, or the boy who’s standing directly in the center of it.
But she thinks she was born ready to try.
𓅓 𓅓 𓅓
The grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel had been entirely hollowed out and reconstructed into a mess of cameras, people and wires. In the middle of it all, a set of chairs, a metaphorical but also physical hot seat under the production lighting.
Black drapes cover the walls, dampening the sound of the numerous people walking back and forth getting everything under the moon set up. Every ten feet, a glowing blue-and-gold banner proclaims the title of the show, making the space feel slightly more like a backstage production than a cold casting room.
Annabeth stands in the wings, marvelling at all, feeling like an ant in one large farm. She watches as a small army of publicists, sound mixers, and journalists drink coffee from paper cups set up on the farthest side of the room.
Her hands rest flat against the cool, silky fabric of her midi dress, a pale golden cream colour with lace edging, a blazer placed on top for an effortless cool girl vibe that she desperately hopes she’s embodying. Hazel had helped her choose the outfit, the colour deliberately chosen to stand out against the dark backgrounds. She resists the urge to touch her makeup, not used to the heavier layer of foundation needed to withstand the harsh lighting.
But beneath the pristine outfit and calm demeanor, her heart is running at a frantic, erratic tempo.
"Two minutes, Annabeth," Chiron murmurs, looking up from the book he’s been casually reading beside her. Annabeth feels some tension leave her clenched jaw at the simple fact of having Chiron here. He had surprised her just that morning, deciding to accompany her for her first day of real press, ever.
To say it had taken Annabeth every ounce of willpower to not begin sobbing right in that moment would be an understatement. Even then, a few tears had slipped through, Chiron immediately offering the handkerchief from his tweed suit.
With his soft tone, he continues, already having memorized the day's schedule, even if it was just 9 hours of answering questions. He runs through it almost like a professor on the first day, reading out a syllabus of the course.
"The first block is all major entertainment outlets. The notes to focus on would be your collaborative ability as partners and mutual respect”.
"Got it," Annabeth says, not letting an ounce of nerves escape into her voice.
Regardless of her efforts, Chiron looks her in the eyes and takes one of her hands in both of this.
“Of course you do”. His smile makes the wrinkles by his eyes show, and it’s so warm, it’s so apparent he believes in her. Annabeth feels warm from the inside out, she wishes she could just sit by Chiron all day, reading her own book in silent companionship.
Then, the door to the main room swings open, and it’s like the entire centre of gravity of the room shifts.
Percy walks in, trailing a scent of something ambery with hints of expensive leather. He’s dressed up, wearing a polo longsleeve that’s fitted tight to his arms and chest, the shade of dark brown immediately complimenting her own dress. A leather jacket is thrown on top and Annabeth is acutely aware of every breath she’s taking in and then out. Somehow he manages to look both like Hollywood royalty and the approachable boy next door. She analyzes the way he walks, confident, as if he’s done this a million times.
And well, maybe he has, his quiet confidence a sign of familiarity.
Annabeth’s eyes track him, not even attempting to be discreet. They hadn’t spoken since the incident on the gravel lot two days ago. The memory of his shrugging shoulder and the raw flash of hurt in his light eyes sits like a heavy weight on her chest.
As if sensing her single-tracked mind, he catches her gaze across the room. There’s a brief pause, only recognizable by the intense focus she has on him, a hesitation that makes the weight sink even deeper as she struggles to take a breath in. And then, he offers a polite, professional nod.
There’s nothing effortless about it, with the tense posture he holds as he walks with his manager to the opposite corner. She feels cold when she remembers him easily swinging his arm over her. He was doing exactly as she had asked, maintaining a distance. Annabeth shivers, goosebumps raising on her skin.
"Alright, stars on mark," the stage manager calls, gesturing toward the two director's chairs set up in front of the primary camera.
Annabeth marches forward, her stride steady and calculated, posture the epitome of perfect. She takes her seat, smoothing her dress, while Percy slides into the chair directly beside her. She becomes immediately aware of the small space between their armrests, her hand twitches, wishing she could close it.
With a few smiles and nods at the camera crew, they settle in.
The red light on the main camera blinks to life.
"Hi guys, I’m Dave from E! News," the first interviewer says, settling into his seat with a smile that holds way too much energy for 8 am.
"The internet is absolutely losing its mind over the training vlog that dropped two days ago. That dagger catch? The swordplay! Tell me, what was the energy like on set the first day you guys stepped onto the mats together?"
Maybe the Annabeth two days ago would have froze, but not this Annabeth. This new Annabeth holds onto the freeing relief of letting herself not care for once in her life.
It clears the static from her brain, and she was going to put on the performance of a lifetime. Determined to show Percy the respect she fosters for him, she opens her mouth and lets herself speak freely.
"It was a true learning experience, or even an exercise in contrast," Annabeth says smoothly, leaning slightly forward, her eyes bright and engaging as she takes the lead. "My character, Sadie, is incredibly calculating and strategic when it comes to combat, each foot placement is rehearsed and practiced. That was something I wanted to embody in my practice for the show. So when I first saw Percy on the mats, moving almost entirely on instinct and raw physicality, I think I felt my brain short-circuit by the difference. But the more time passed, the more I learned from his style and I think it greatly improved my performance."
The interviewer chuckles, leaning in as she smiles, shaking her head slightly.
Percy doesn’t miss a beat. Despite their awkward morning and the distance between them, the moment the spotlight hits him, his natural charm kicks in, ready to continue the interview. He leans back in his chair, flashing the signature, crooked smile that had driven audiences crazy since he began acting, one that Annabeth was becoming a bit too familiar with craving.
"She’s being nice, Dave," Percy chimes in, his voice easy and full of warmth. "While I could pride myself on my somewhat unconventional swordtraining practice, I definitely wasn’t the seasoned veteran teaching her anything. On day one, I tried to give her some advice, and she looked at me like I had just given her a flat tire.”, he raises his hands in defense and somewhat shrugs, “Which was totally deserved. But that’s what makes this partnership work, we keep each other on our toes. And it helps the dynamic of our characters. Sadie’s the brain, the strategist who sees the whole battlefield. I’m just the guy brave, or maybe reckless, enough to run across it when she tells me to."
The interviewer sends them a big smile, practically eating out of their hands.
For the next four hours, the pattern repeats itself over and over. Together, they’re an unstoppable machine. Annabeth takes on more of the macro-narrative questions, breaking down the themes of the script and the mythological background. Meanwhile, Percy shows off his own intelligence by handling the micro-moments, explaining set direction and filming directions, injecting jokes, charming the journalists, and validating her comments with a deep, attentive respect that made her heart flutter against her will.
They’re a perfect team, and Annabeth sees exactly what the marketing team saw in them. Together, they were a force that media teams could only dream of.
Yet, in the two-minute intervals between the rotation of journalists, the silence between their chairs was deafening. The tiny, residual stiffness lingered like an uncomfortable shadow overhead. Percy would look down at his shoes, adjusting his watch, while Annabeth played with the cuffs of her blazer. The dichotomy was so strong that she could tell some of the production team they had spent a more significant time with had even begun to pick up on it. However, there was nothing to be done about where they were the perfect partners on camera. Even if they almost looked like strangers the moment the red light died.
By the time the lunch block arrives, Annabeth’s shoulders are tight with tension. She’s spent answers upon answers trying to demonstrate how highly she thinks of Percy’s work as an actor and yet it seems to have no effect. The professional distance she had enforced backfiring even as she tries to get through to him with her words. It doesn’t help that for every nice thing she sends his way, he doubles back and compliments her with even more intensity.
She walks back into the green room, mindlessly moving through the grey hallway, her brain buzzing with the sheer volume of words she’d spoken.
"Incredible morning, Annabeth," Juniper says, rushing past her with a clipboard. "Oh, and by the way, if you see the catering coordinator, let me know! I need to remind them that the birthday cake for the afternoon wrap needs to have a dairy-free option for the executive producer."
Annabeth pauses, her hand hovering over the door to her dressing area. "Birthday cake?"
"Yeah, for Percy," Juniper says casually, checking off a line on her sheet. "Today’s the eighteenth. He didn't want anyone making a big deal out of it on a heavy press day, so he explicitly told the studio to keep it quiet. We’re just doing a quick acknowledgement at the end of the last interview of the day."
Annabeth’s stomach drops, the heavy feeling on her chest expanding to a cold sensation blooming behind her ribs. She can feel the guilt run through her.
August eighteenth.
It’s Percy’s birthday. And he hadn't said a single word to her about it. Not in the SUV the other day, not during the four hours they had just spent sitting close enough to feel the heat of each other's skin. He had kept it entirely to himself.
Knowing him, he was likely protecting her from feeling obligated to care. Or, perhaps, a deeper part of her thinks, he’s simply keeping his life completely separate from her like she had enforced with the distance she insisted upon.
Annabeth closes her eyes feeling wholly unprepared to begin processing that information.
"Hey, Annabeth? You okay?"
She opens her eyes. Piper’s standing at the end of the hall, her hand turned and looking inquisitively while holding a garment bag.
"I need to find a cupcake," Annabeth says, her brain suddenly kicking into high gear, immediately moving around her plans for the lunch break. "A blue one."
Piper blinks, confused. "A blue cupcake? Annabeth, we have forty minutes before the afternoon international block starts-"
"I…I’m sorry Piper but right now I," Annabeth tries to finish the sentence but isn’t even sure what she means to say. She’s already scrambling, finding her wallet buried under all the outfits she had tried on this morning.
Piper just nods and holds her hand out, watching as Annabeth is already stripping off her cream blazer and tossing it toward her, knowing that she would have to keep cool in the Vancouver heat she was about to run into.
"Tell Chiron I’ll be back in 20 minutes max."
Piper gives her another, more determined, nod and Annabeth sends a silent thanks to the universe for putting her into her life.
Dashing out the side exit of the Fairmont, as she expected, the mid-August Vancouver heat hits her like a physical wall of humidity and sun. She doesn’t know the city well, especially not the downtown core, but she moves with the sense that there has to be a bakery somewhere close by.
Looking down at the time on her phone she thanks her past self for choosing a pair of ballet flats instead of heels and picks up the pace to an aggressive speed walk. Her dress moves with her in the light breeze as she zig zags across the streets keeping her eyes peeled for anything approaching a bakery.
When she finally spots a place with a grandiose wedding cake in the display window she doesn’t even take a second to read the name, just rushes in through the glass doors. The bell chimes harshly but she pays it no mind as her eyes scan the display case.
It’s full of pristine, elegant pastries, croissants, tarts, pale pink macarons.
Not a single piece of anything blue in sight.
"Can I help you?" a young barista asks, looking slightly startled by the flush on Annabeth’s cheeks and the desperate way she’s staring at the array of goods.
"I need a vanilla… no chocolate cupcake," Annabeth says, breathing heavily, her hands resting lightly on her hips. "And, it’s an odd request, but I’ll pay extra, or double extra, if possible, do you have any blue food coloring? In the kitchen?"
"Uh... we don’t use artificial dyes in our display goods”
Annabeth goes still, and maybe the barista is just that good of a person or maybe Annabeth looks so dejected, she hurriedly adds, “but we might have some of the gel dye for the custom fondant orders in the back”.
Annabeth doesn’t know the last time she’s smiled with all of her teeth but she rushes towards the counter, game plan ready.
"Okay, feel free to tell me if this isn’t possible”, she takes a big deep breath, “I need one un-frosted cupcake, a small bag, a bowl of plain white buttercream, and the blue dye," Annabeth commands gently. She pulls a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and drops it on the counter assuming she’s paying about 5x the value of the good. “And quickly, it’s a bit of an emergency”, she adds on with a guilty smile.
And because she wasn’t raised in a barn, she adds a "Please.”
Five minutes later, she sits, slightly huddled over a small marble table in the corner of the shop. The bakeshop is popular and so the employee isn’t able to take on the task herself. No worries, Annabeth mixes the food colouring, adding enough that she’s almost sure it will dye his mouth if the way it’s staining her hands is any sign.
She stirs it methodically with a plastic butterknife until all the streaks of blue are gone from the frosting. Scooping it into the bag she makes an amateur attempt at a swirl on top, it's half lop-sided but the employee at the counter gives her a thumbs up and some matching blue sprinkles when she asks for a box.
It definitely isn't the neatest job, and it won’t be on the cover of Bon Appetit anytime soon, the edges were already a bit messy from her clumsy attempt to place it in the box, but it was real. And blue.
She arrives back at the Fairmont with seven minutes to spare, having sped-walked while gripping the box upright. Her chest is heaving as she slips back into her cream blazer in the safety of her room, already thinking through the millions of scenarios where she presents the cupcake and Percy turns it down. Luckily Piper and Hazel have been called elsewhere or else she doesn’t think she would have ever heard the end of it from them, running halfway across downtown Vancouver for a single cupcake.
Nevertheless, she scans the area looking for a safe place to put it down and away from curious eyes. She finally rests it in its small cardboard box, hidden beneath her most recent notebook.
Annabeth walks over to the touch-up counter to fix the slight sweat that had accumulated on the high points of her face, but as she looks back at herself in the mirror she notices a light in her eyes that was missing before. She looks away just as quickly, not sure what to do with the information.
𓅓 𓅓 𓅓
The final interview block ends at 4:30 PM.
Annabeth feels a new sort of satisfaction as she leans back in her chair, ready to change and get to bed early. She doesn’t think she could ever get used to this, when everything right now feels so new and exciting, she hopes she never does.
The lights are finally powered down, the black drapes pulled back to reveal the surprisingly high summer sun streaming through the tall windows of the ballroom.
The crew is already a flurry of action, beginning to dismantle the set-up, the sound of tape ripping from the carpet filling the space and large cameras being packed away. Percy stands by the main monitor, thanking the camera operators with that easy, genuine gratitude that Annabeth now knew was entirely authentic.
She calmly gets up and heads back to her space in the green room, then returns. Then, she waits patiently until Percy’s publicist steps away to take a call, leaving him standing alone near the edge of the mock-stage.
Annabeth steels herself, watching the way the light illuminates the strands of his hair. His broad frame stands out, backlit by the windows so he almost seems like a making of her imagination. She walks over, her notebook clasped tightly against her ribs, not having had the time to put down her things. She feels each step as she approaches, her shoes heavy on the carpet.
"Jackson."
Percy turns immediately, seeming almost surprised to hear her voice calling to him. Before she has a second to decipher his expression, it shifts into that guarded, polite neutrality he’d maintained all day.
"Hey, Chase.”, he pauses as if unsure what to say. And Annabeth cringes, it feels so wrong to see him that way.
He continues, staltingly, “Great job with the international outlets. You really knocked the BBC interview out of the park."
"Thanks," she replies, her throat dry. She doesn’t let herself hesitate, knowing that if she does she will just walk the other way, away from any semblance of his space forever. Instead, she moves on impulse, sliding the small cardboard box out from beneath her notebook and holding it out toward him.
"Happy birthday."
Percy freezes and Annabeth almost laughs, she thinks it might be the most still she’s seen him in the last however long since she’s met him.
His eyes dart from her face down to the plain brown box, then back up again. He takes the box, if for there being nothing else to do, and opens it to reveal the blue cupcake.
For a beat, he looks entirely unmoored, surprised and taken aback at the same time. Annabeth feels a crack in the confident, calm persona she’s holding on to when she catches a glimpse of his face and is reminded of just how young he is. There’s something about Percy, there’s an unwavering optimism he holds, a belief in the good of all people. At the same time, she knows all the hardship he’s been through, the people who have wronged him or taken advantage of him. She thinks, with some sadness, he’s probably spent as many birthdays on sets as he has off of them now, when was the last time someone surprised him, showed him that they cared just a little bit more, the way he does for others.
For a second she sees a boy who had grown up in a cramped apartment in New York.
"How did you..." He clears his throat, looking hesitant to even take the cupcake out of the box.
It feels like something bigger than it is and for some reason that scares her, the big feelings she holds inside threaten to escape. Annabeth scrambles, "Juniper has a loud voice,", a small, tentative smile touching her lips.
The slightly lopsided, aggressively blue cupcake stares back at the both of them. A sudden, breathy laugh escapes him and the tension that had held his shoulders straight for the last forty-eight hours seems to evaporate in an instant.
"Wow," he murmurs, his thumb traces the edge of the cardboard but he says it while looking right at her, his eyes bright with a warmth that makes her knees feel weak and the butterflies in her stomach beat harder. She immediately looks to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. "Did you make this?"
“I didn’t bake it, no, but… the blue, I, well I did the frosting," she says, her voice soft but the words hard to get out. "I remembered... well, I just thought you should have something blue today.”
Percy stares at the cupcake for one more long moment before closing the box. When he looks back at her, the crooked, mischievous lilt is finally back in his expression, but beneath it, there is a quiet sincerity.
"Thanks, Annabeth," he said softly, stepping just one inch closer, narrowing the small gap between them without breaking it. Annabeth feels her breath catch.
"Genuinely. Most people in this business have my birthday flagged on a digital calendar three months in advance so they can send a branded gift basket. It’s... nice. Knowing you didn't just search me up on the internet to find out."
Annabeth understands what he’s saying immediately and the guilt strikes her then, sharp and unexpected, like a sudden blow that leads to a knock out. She finally meets his eyes, realizing how much he values the idea that she saw him, the real person, rather than the portfolio of the child star. This rush job of a cupcake represented something else to him, the spontaneity of it was something he cherished because it felt real.
The guilt is because it's untrue. This assumption that she cared enough to only ever see him as a person is untrue, she remembers the late night scrolling through his Wikipedia page, reading his background and tabloids, looking at links and the immense invasion of privacy it now all feels like. She hadn’t remembered his birthday but it wasn’t because she was an angel who didn’t play a part in his exploitation online, no it was because she was a bad person who didn’t care to learn it in the first place.
She has realized throughout the day of press just how much of his life Percy keeps away from the camera. His current pastimes, favourite coffee shops, the music he’s been listening to on set or the car he drives, it’s all information that he mostly deflects with charming one-liners and half-truths.
Her mind flashes to Calypso and she gets the sense that he’s telling her that was something she had done, searched for his birthday and planned it out, gotten closer to him in an inauthentic way by researching his interests, likes and dislikes.
How different was that from what she had done? She too had researched him and while part of it was for the role, it feels deeply wrong now.
"Percy, I—" she starts, the urge to confess, to be vulnerable, rising in her throat.
"Hey, Percy! Studio needs you for a quick photo with the cake before they cut for the day!", a producer calls out from across the ballroom, waving them over.
The moment breaks, the silence they had found in their little corner was gone and the sounds of the room came back into focus.
Percy looks back at the crew, then gives Annabeth another soft look. "I'll save this for later," he whispers, even closer than he was a second prior, gesturing to the box in his hand. "See you on the mats tomorrow, Wise Girl?"
The nickname slips out effortlessly, the warm air against her cheek, and Annabeth lets herself exhale. She can tell him another time, be honest and vulnerable and all of those things… another time. She revels in the feeling of hearing the nickname thrown her way again and senses the professional boundary she was foolish to ever try to maintain, slipping away.
Annabeth’s heart performs a violent flip against her ribs. She nods, her voice barely a whisper. "See you tomorrow, Percy."
As she watches him walk away toward the flashing cameras of the studio executives, her hand drifts down to grip the edge of her blazer. Somehow it was only the first day of press and yet it felt like a lifetime on the soundstage.
Her brain won’t stop replaying the doomscrolling she had done that one night, and even now, with the continuous updates she gets on Twitter about the production that seem to somehow end up centred around Percy whether she wants it or not. If nothing else, she realizes how immense his fame is, how hard he holds on to the privacy he can get. And she gets it too, every time she sees a picture leaked online or the comments making assumptions and judgements on her, she feels the impact of it immediately. It makes her feel seen in a way that’s exploitative.
She finds Percy again almost as if her eyes were personally made to track him anywhere, laughing while still holding the cupcake in his hand. She wants him so badly, his arms around her waist, his hands against her own, his breath on her skin, for his eyes to track her the way she tracks him. Is she no better than any of the people online? Any better than Calypso? And yet she can't stop the way her heart accelerates when she sees him, the casual way they banter back and forth, the way he seems to see her in a way that no one else ever has and how badly she wants to be able to return that to him despite knowing she holds feelings for him that will never be reciprocated.
The guilt feels like it’s eating her from the outside in.