Alternatively

Ubiquitous (iv.)

Golden light streamed in from the cracked blinds, drifting over soft skin and curling hair. The fan creaked slightly above, papers and pages of open books on the desk fluttering periodically. The digital clock blinked in time with his discarded watch on the nightstand, delicate sounds against the soft orchestration of late morning. Rumpled sheets wrapped around their legs and draped across their backs. He was propped on an elbow, his free hand lightly drifting down her back. His fingers trailed along her spine, making sure to take detours at stray freckles he found along the way. When he neared the base, she turned over to look at him, gray eyes alight in the sun.

"You going to make breakfast?"

He let his arm flop around her waist, wriggling closer. "Thought it was your turn."

"And after so many days of burnt toast?" she tucked a curl behind her ear. "You masochist."

"Point taken," he yawned, ignoring her protests concerning his hideous morning breath. "Omelets? Bacon?"

"Or we go out for brunch."

"Brunch."

She nodded, propping herself up to his level. "You can't make eggs benedict, which I want."

"But going out means getting out of bed," he groaned. "I, for one, think that's a terrible idea."

"Choosing sleep over food?"

Percy grinned, rolling her on top of him. "I don't know, sleep wasn't really what I thought of."

Her laugh did funny things to his stomach. It curled his toes and made his face hot. She combed through his hair, ignoring the sleep tangled locks that fell over her own shoulder. He settled his hands at her hips and pressed into her touch. Her heartbeat was steady against his chest and he reveled being the center of her attention. Forgive him if he never wanted to leave that moment again.

"You're practically purring," she scoffed, pushing away and scooting to the edge of the bed.

And would you blame him? He whined at the separation, gently grabbing for her wrist.

"No, sir," she stood up, facing him with a stern expression he saw through easily. "We have to get up."

"But why," he pouted.

Annabeth ripped the pillow from under his head and threw it at his face. "It's time to be productive members of society."

He huffed from under the pillow, his breath rebounding and proving that it indeed was fatal.

"Come on, Percy, get out of bed."

"Don't wanna," he grumbled, lifting the pillow slightly so he could see her still standing with her hands propped on her hips and lips quirked in that way that meant she was amused but also serious.

"Get up."

"Five more minutes."

"Percy," she commanded, her tone sharp around the edges that sliced through the air. "I don't have five more minutes."

He squinted at her, sitting up with a frown. "Annabeth?"

The room was suddenly saturated with the vibrant tang of blood and it was choking him so much that he couldn't find where it was coming from. Then, right across her tanned stomach, a grotesque gash seeped into existence. He stared in horror as it dripped down faded scars that began opening, deep red staining the carpet around her. Her face was still boasting that stern expression, a bead of blood latched on her eyelash.

"Get up."

The pop of the "p" sent him spiraling backward into blank nothingness.

And his eyes snapped open as his heart leaped into his throat, halting his dream free fall. Sweat trickled down his neck and it took a moment before he stopped gulping in oxygen like it was the first time he had ever inhaled.