Just a glimmer of it, between the heads of the crowd, but you automatically know—somehow—that it's her hair.
Automatically, you tense, causing Frank and Hazel to glance at you sideways, like they're nervous about what you're going to do.
"What's the matter, Percy?" asks Hazel quietly, reaching up to squeeze your hand that's slung over her shoulder.
Ten thousand emotions are rolling around inside your head, and everything you see is unnaturally bright, but you manage to ground out, "Nervous."
Frank rolls his eyes and looks at you incredulously. "By the gods, Percy. Why are you nervous? You're going to see your girlfriend again!"
"What if she found someone else?" you ask in a small voice, keeping your gaze fixed resolutely on your shoes as you voice the fear that's been nagging away at your thoughts. "What if she doesn't love me anymore?"
"Doubt it," says Hazel easily. Her voice is so sure, you just want to believe her; the fear doesn't leave, though. It's just pushed away to the back of your head.
So you try to focus on her as you scan the crowd. Gray eyes—ever-changing, just like yours—steely and cold or soft and inviting. Blonde curls, pulled back into a ponytail so messy it shouldn't really count as one. The way she bit her nails when she was nervous, and stole your sweatshirts and camp shirts and called you Seaweed Brain and kissed you when you did something stupid.
You wheel around, and suddenly that face is right in front of you, exactly the way you just pictured it.
An old gray sweatshirt you used to wear to school, thrown on over jean shorts.
She's chewing nervously on her fingernails, staring at you in a mix of horror and disbelief, and some small part of your brain that's still got some semblance of rational thought remembers that you're basically wearing your bedsheets. How unfamiliar you must seem to her.
Holding out both palms in a peace gesture, you take a step toward her.
And then another.
Mentally cursing whoever made the toga so difficult to move in, you position yourself right in front of her, reach out, and slowly, gently, pull her hand away from her mouth.
"Annabeth." You say it like a statement, not a question, and her face suddenly changes: eyes widen, face pales, breathing hitches. She knows you remember.
"I thought I told you," you say in a low voice, "not to bite your nails."
And then she's got her face buried in your chest, her fist is pounding against your shoulder, and somewhere you're thinking holy Poseidon, ow, but you're too busy focusing holding her closer to you to make her stop—the feeling of her heart, the life pounding against your body convinces you that this is not a dream and she's really real.
So when you lean in and mumble against her hair, "I love you, Wise Girl," and she finally looks up, you waste no time in kissing her as hard as you possibly can.
The crowd is muttering to each other, and you know someone's probably taking pictures, but you just don't care because Annabeth is in your arms again and everything is okay.
A/N: Leaving for Florida! :D Holy CRAP, I'm so excited! Since I'll soon be sitting in a car for eight hours, this leaves me plenty of time to write fanfiction (and ride fish ponies and see Annabeth and make things go BOOM!)
Anyhoo, this is an early birthday present for Natalie, a.k.a. MostDefinitelyFlorentine, who is one of my lovely best friends (SPICY!) Love you :)
I was listening to Lady Antebellum earlier, which was my inspiration for the title of this fic, because the chorus of the song reminded me of Percabeth (I haven't seen you in ages/Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are/To me you'll always be eighteen/And beautiful/And dancing away with my heart) and I was like "Hey! Let's write a reunion fic!" And so I did.
So… thoughts? Because I wrote this at three in the morning, and quite honestly, I don't know what the hell it is.