ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀ ʙɪᴛᴇꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴀʙᴇᴛʜ/ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ

ɪɪ | ᴀɴɴᴀʙᴇᴛʜ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀɴ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ᴄʀɪꜱɪꜱ

Annabeth does those little chores that make her feel good about herself. They don't take much effort at all, but she's getting them done so fast. She feels like a productivity queen.

Throwing the sheets in the wash? DONE.

Putting on real clothes? ALSO DONE.

Washing the mugs before her roommate comes home and finds out she used his? SHE EVEN PUT THEM AWAY.

Giving herself bangs with the kitchen scissors? CONSIDERED.

Annabeth sighs and puts the scissors down. "Not today," she says to herself.

She puts on her favorite high-top Converse and heads out to her landlord's shed. Most tenants complain about their landlords, but not Annabeth. Kevin is this forty-five-year-old man who honestly just wants people to like him. He's told Annabeth all about his three kids at home. She's even seen pictures. They're kind of cute.

There was this one night Annabeth got locked out of the apartment and had a minor meltdown. It's the first place she's ever lived as an adult and she thought for sure she'd already screwed it up. But Kevin was there; he was understanding. Their small talk led to him telling Annabeth all about his oldest son, who had just come out to him. She wasn't an expert by any means, but she was happy to offer advice to Kevin, and even recommend some books. Ever since that night, he's been there for her.

And if she needs a makeshift flagpole then she's going to get one!

Luckily there's already a little socket for the pole on the railing. The job is supposed to be easy. However, as soon as Annabeth picks up the pole, about a dozen splinters break her skin.

"Fuck," she swears and sticks her fingers in her mouth instinctively.

Okay, okay. Chill out.

If she just turns the screws, then the pole will be secure.

Annabeth uses one hand to hold the pole in place and the other to tighten the screws.

"Fucking hell!" she shouts as more splinters poke at her.

By the time the flag is secured, her roommate's SUV is parallel parking on the street in front of the apartment. Annabeth takes her hand out of her mouth and waves. Her days off are so long waiting for him to get back from his internship at the hospital.

"What's this?" Will Solace slams the car door shut and hops up the stairs to admire Annabeth's handiwork.

"Ya like?" Annabeth's feeling quite proud of herself now.

"I love it!" Will wraps Annabeth in a bear hug that threatens to explode her throbbing head. He's still wearing his hospital scrubs, and they smell like urine and garlic.

He twists her Yankees cap to the side and says, "Now let's go inside; I need all the details on the guy you met last night."

I need all the details too, Annabeth thinks to herself.

It's easy to say that Will's being nosy and it's none of his business what Annabeth does and with who, but it's Will. Annabeth's happy to share her private life with him while he's busy with UCLA classes and the internship.

Annabeth puts some of the leftovers she brought home from work in the microwave while Will showers. One good thing about restaurant work is the discounted food. Annabeth always has lunch taken care of. Plus, the garlic parmesan wings are amazing.

Will might be mad when he sees that Annabeth put styrofoam in the microwave, but he'll quickly forget when she tells him about Marty McFly.

She flips through the rest of the mail on the counter. Most of it's for Will: doctorate programs reaching out, the undergrad program at UCLA asking him for donations. There's a letter from the architecture program at New Rome addressed to her. These letters come in the mail every couple of months to remind her that her full scholarship is 'soon expiring!' It's been ten years. That money isn't going anywhere.