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.

Fuck New Rome. Annabeth thought about going. Hell, she was seriously planning on going to school there. She'd even signed up for architecture classes.

She almost laughs at the thought. Her? At an architecture firm? Not wearing a tank top and a push-up bra to work every day? As if. She doesn't need all that. She is the best bartender at Hooters location #8707 by far. The Tupperware container full of sangria in the refrigerator speaks for itself.

She puts Will's mail on a neat pile and finally throws out the box to their new flag.

Then she sees Hazel and Frank's smiling faces on the counter.

It's her worst nightmare.

Granted, she's incredibly happy for Hazel and Frank; they truly deserve the best, but first Leo and Calypso, and now them. There's only one thing this can mean.

Annabeth Chase is finally at that age where all of her friends from her hero days are getting married.

It's a really pretty invitation. Hazel looks beautiful in that checkered sundress, and Frank finally looks confident in that body from Ares. Mars. Whatever.

July 17th is not very far away. That means that Annabeth has about two months to come up with a reason not to go. She feels bad, of course. She loves Frank and Hazel. There's just no way she can go and see all those people she used to know. Is this what people who went to real high school have to deal with?

Images of people interrogating her about her career that she used to care so much about and wondering what really went down between her and Percy invade her thoughts. Is this making her nauseous or is that just the hangover again?

And if that isn't worse enough, Percy will definitely be there. She hasn't seen him since the summer before they were supposed to move to their dorms in New Rome.

As Annabeth buries the invitation in the trash, she notices it's addressed to both her and Will. Hazel and Frank don't even know Will all that well. That means everyone is invited.

Nope.

Annabeth is not going. She'll pick up extra shifts. She'll get food poisoning on purpose. She'll-

She'll get out the old computer and log on to Ticketmaster.

She'll enter her city or zip code and see who's playing near her.

She'll click on Harry Styles even though she's not a huge fan.

She'll add the cheapest tickets to her cart and buy them next time she gets paid.

Then she'll give them to Will as an early birthday gift.

She'll find Hazel and Frank's online wedding registry, and she'll look for something that she and Will can go in on and ship to... where's this wedding at?

Annabeth stuffs her arm back into the trash- which desperately needs taken out- and retrieves the invitation.

She'll remember to have this gift shipped to the resort in New Rome, also the next time she gets paid.

She just has to remember.

Will comes back down the stairs as the microwave beeps.

"Do I smell styrofoam in the microwave?" he asks accusingly.

Annabeth throws the invite back into the trash and slams the laptop shut while he's getting the wings out of the microwave. The evidence is gone; it's like nothing happened. What Will doesn't know won't hurt him. In fact, it'll help him. He'll get to see Harry Styles.

"How was the hospital? Kill anyone?" Annabeth asks. She wipes her forearm on her jeans, trying to get the coffee grounds off.

"Stop beating around the bush. You've got something to tell me."

Fuck. "I, um, what?" Annabeth picks at one of her splinters.

"Annabeth!" Will scolds. "Give me your hand! Gods, what do you do to yourself?"

"Did it for you, my guy." Annabeth gives Will her hand. He finds a pair of tweezers in their junk drawer and gets to work.

He starts again. "I mean, I heard most of it, but I do need all the details because-"

"As the designated irresponsible roommate, it's my responsibility to let you live vicariously through me. I know," Annabeth finishes and takes a bite of a chicken wing using her free hand.

"So?" Will Solace is simultaneously in Best Friend Mode and Doctor Mode.

Annabeth sighs. "Well, you were there when I was getting ready to go-"

"I still need my belt back."

"Are you listening or not? I met this guy dressed as Marty McFly at the club, and we took turns buying rounds, and we, uh, danced. I think..." she trails off, not sure which details were real and which ones she made up in her drunken state.

"What was the guy's name?" Will asks. He's hanging on to every word.

"That's a good question, a great one even. Ow! You don't have to dig so deep! I blacked out before I could figure that out." She braces herself for Will's lecture on safe drinking.

"Annabeth Chase!" he gasps in fake shock. "How will you ever see him again?"

"I don't plan on it." Annabeth wipes some sauce from her face. "He made an offer I had to refuse."

"Mmm." That's Will-Speak for 'I don't believe you but I'm dropping the subject'.

He releases her hand and brushes the splinters into the trash.

"Thanks, Doc," Annabeth says. "Now can you fix my other hand?"