Alternatively

Through His Viewfinder

Percy flipped through the pictures because it was his job, nothing concerning his troubling attraction toward his subject. He sat with his back to the mirrors, clicking through the albums he had constructed for the website. His most frequented was the principal dancer with striking grey eyes. He had been assigned to her as she began her career as a soloist, the company wishing to have full profiles of spotlighted dancers. It drew in sponsors.

His brow scrunched at a particular shot, Annabeth's face glowing under pale sunlight and her hair uncharacteristically loosely bound. It created a halo effect and he was physically pained to look at it with a straight face.

He had never pegged himself as one to pine after someone like her. Hell, pining in general was left field. When they met, the dancer was incredibly aloof, as he expected. Problems sprung when his unorthodox system of shooting clashed with her perceptions of photographers. They fought over angles and lighting and poses and just about everything available at the time. Percy hadn't expected to get so involved with her schedule, trailing after her as she went to performances, benefits, rehearsals, interviews, and fittings. He was shocked when she agreed to let him tag along when she was on break from the company, granting him access to her daily routine and her personal life. It was around there did he realize the aversion he had harbored shifted to something that sent his heart racing every time he saw her. The butterflies were machine guns in his gut.

He dragged two of Annabeth's most recent costume fittings into place on the company webpage and rubbed his face. Not only was she the most talented dancer in the company, but she was the smartest person he had ever met. She was studying full time for her degree in architecture, which was baffling to him. The amount of work she had to cram into a 24 hour day should leave her exhausted, not the star of the stage. It was as if the fates were writing out in bold letters how out of his league she was.

The studio's door swished open and he slid his laptop to the ground as Annabeth strode into the light. "You wouldn't believe the spread Stylist pieced together."

"That interview from two months ago?"

"Yes," she huffed, dropping her bag beside him and sliding down the mirror. "They made me sound vapid, very two dimensional."

He looked over at her phone, reaching out to zoom in on the text. "The editor isn't out for making you sound good."

"It couldn't have hurt her to include the context for these quotes at the very least."

He scrolled across to the pictures featured in the article, squinting at them with a pursed mouth. They were soft and feminine, only one capturing her face. Eyes closed, a sorrowful expression gracing her features. She wore grief wonderfully well. The next was of her lower body, the rose Juliet skirt floating around her legs. The photographer was alright, but he didn't know her best angles like Percy did. He shook his head, leaning back to grab his camera. And unlike that wash of a photographer, he could find decent lighting.

"Their sales have been dropping for the past year anyway," Annabeth decided, still noticeably ruffled by the article. "They haven't got any weight."

"I dunno, you might be taken for some airhead now," he dramatically sighed, flipping off his lens cap. "Your whole career could be ruined, you could get kicked out of college and the company because of this. All because of your supposed dumbness. Or is it really only supposed?"

She punched him as she stood, peeling off her coat. "Real clever, thanks."

"Only lookin' out for your career."

"Speaking of, I saw you updated your portfolio. Those pictures of the fountain and...um...that model..."

"Hazel?"