Will wakes up in a nice cozy little blanket cocoon, with his boyfriend, Nico pressed up against him. Everything is wonderful. Everything is fine. Today, he's going to give Annabeth a call to try to talk her into moving to New York when she's finished with her quest with Percy. That way, she'll be close enough for him to keep an eye on her. So what if the plan to get Annabeth and Percy back together at Hazel and Frank's wedding didn't work out? Will can tell that they are simply not meant to be. They're too different.

Besides, he didn't like the way they disappeared for hours without a trace when they were supposed to be getting food. Sure, they have ADHD. Will gets it, but usually, when Annabeth gets distracted, she'll at the very least text him and say she's going to be later than expected. He was really worried about her, and then his phone died and he had no way of tracking her!

And then Nico did his Elvis impression and Will couldn't exactly resist those hip rotations. He's ADHD too! He's allowed to get distracted!

Anyway, it's all Percy's fault. She's come to rely on him and clearly, it's not working out well. She's hurt for crying out loud! Percy doesn't know even half of what it takes to keep Annabeth afloat. Gods, she's probably in that hotel room upstairs just dying in such close proximity to him.

It's a good thing Will's here.

He rolls over and reaches towards the nightstand where he set his phone last night, only to accidentally punch Nico in the face. He doesn't stir; actually, he gets some drool onto Will's hand. He must be really tired if he's started drooling in his sleep!

He stretches his arms and sits up, easing Nico off of him, but something feels wrong. Something is so very, very wrong. He knows he's a wild sleeper, so it wouldn't be surprising if they switched places in their sleep, but Nico usually wakes up sometime around three in the morning and insists they switch back.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and right away notices eyeliner smeared on his hands.

Very funny, Nico, he thinks to himself.

He turns over to wake Nico up, but Nico, as handsome as he is, does not have the back of a swimmer.

Will gasps. He wasn't even drinking last night! How the hell is he in bed with Percy fucking Jackson!

He needs to get out. He needs to get out of this bed and go somewhere—anywhere—else.

Percy rolls over and says, without opening his eyes, "Where're you going?"

"Uh..." Will's voice does not sound like his own. He clears his throat. "Bathroom." Nope, that's not it either.

As he stumbles to the bathroom, he feels a cool breeze below even though he could have sworn he wore sweatpants to bed last night. He's not ready for Nico to see his Star Wars pajama pants.

And he definitely doesn't want Nico to see an oversized t-shirt that says SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME WENT TO PRAGUE AND GOT ME THIS T-SHIRT.

Someone who loves Will did go to Prague, but he doubts souvenir t-shirts were at the top of Annabeth's priority list.

He opens the door only to find a closet, empty except for a sweeper that doesn't look like it's been used since 2007. He can tell because someone slapped a Hannah Montana sticker to the side of it, and Miley Cyrus looks about fourteen years old.

He shuts the door and then finally finds the bathroom. It is so not fair that Camp Half-Blood only gave him and Nico enough for a room with no view and a shower the size of the communal ones at Camp Half-Blood. This one has a tub!

Would it be wrong if he took advantage of a strange situation?

Maybe he'll do that later; after all, he doesn't have a change of clothes on him, just his weird Prague shirt. He turns the faucet on the sink and then lets out a blood-curdling scream.

In the mirror in front of him is none other than Annabeth Chase. Her long blonde hair is tangled, but not from sleep alone. Will knows Annabeth's post-sex hair anywhere, but the problem isn't that he's wearing her post-sex hair; it's that he's wearing her entire body.

"You okay in there?" Percy shouts from the other room.

"Uh, yeah! Just uh, slipped a little!" Will's been told that he's a bad liar. He doesn't believe that.

He takes a couple of stress management breaths and sits down on the floor, the makeup smudged on his (her?) hands completely forgotten. He rakes his hands through his curls, a nervous habit he developed and can easily keep up with Annabeth's hair. It's not a surprise she steals his shampoo so often.

There has to be a way to fix this. Good god, if he's in Annabeth's body, then where is his body, and is the real Annabeth somewhere out there? Oh gods, what if she's trapped in his body like some kind of Freaky Friday remake? The world can't afford another Freaky Friday remake, and Will's body can't afford Annabeth's poor taste in fashion.

He stands back up on wobbly legs and looks at himself-as-Annabeth in the mirror. The blue t-shirt falls over his shoulder, revealing even more hickeys. When did Percy Jackson turn into a vampire? Why would Annabeth let him do this?

Why wouldn't she tell Will about it?

This is so not okay with him. Not only does he have to make do with Annabeth's post-sex hair, but he also has to cover up a ton of hickeys with what limited makeup she packed, and he has to remember to take all her medications.

Oh, and he needs to figure out how to fix this, preferably soon.

And when he does figure this out, he's going to find the real Annabeth and slap some sense into her because sleeping with one's ex is a huge decision that requires consultation with one's best friend, and Will was not consulted.

A knock on the bathroom door snaps Will out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, Annabeth? Will's here," Percy says. "He says it's important."

What's he supposed to say? What if they didn't trade bodies Freaky Friday-style?

There's another knock on the bathroom door and then a new voice starts to speak, and Will gets secondhand embarrassment like he's listening to himself on a recording.

"Hey, let me in, man," the voice—his voice—says. "It's just me."

Will cracks the door open, and sure enough, his own face is on the other side. His body wears baggy jeans and a worn Star Wars t-shirt he usually prefers to sleep in.

"It's just Annabeth," the other Will says.

Will can't take this. He lets his body into the bathroom, but only so nobody else has to see that horrendously boring outfit. "Tell me something only Annabeth would know then," he challenges.

Will's body crosses its arms and says in a flat tone, "You turned my trauma into a Taylor Swift reference when you gave me a red scarf for my twentieth birthday, but then you took the scarf."

"You never wore it!" he whines.

Annabeth huffs. "We've been over this, my guy. I can't wear scarves. I feel like they're wearing me."

"Okay, next question."

"There's more than one question?" she asks.

"What Taylor Swift era are you in?"

Annabeth rolls Will's blue eyes. "Reputation, but you insist I'm in my Red era for some reason."

"And I'm right!"

They have been over this, but it's comforting to rehash it.

Will looks down at Annabeth's body. "I like your new tattoos."

"Thanks," she says. "Trying to get one from every country we visit."

"That's excessive."

"Nah," she says, giving Will a toiletry bag he recognizes as hers. "Take my birth control pill."

"But I have such a weak gag reflex!"

"I don't want to get pregnant, so you're gonna take the fucking pill," she says. She's always been terrifying, but the height she now has on him is kind of scary. It offsets the balance they've come to know and love.

It's weird, Will realizes, seeing himself this way. It's not like looking into a mirror because he's not quick to anger the way Annabeth is. He greets everyone he meets with a smile, while Annabeth greets strangers with suspicion. It's a weird look for him, but not necessarily a bad one.

Annabeth passes the card of pills to Will, and he takes it. "How am I supposed to get it out?"

"Poke it with your nail. I can't do it with these man hands," she says.

"Hey! I take very good care of my hands, thank you very much!"

"Will..."

"Fine." With more struggle than he'd like to admit, he pops the pill from the foil and then asks, "Water?"

"Don't have any."

Great. Now he has to dry swallow.

Annabeth rolls her eyes at his struggle. So what if she has a better gag reflex than him? Will has... Will has a boyfriend!

Well...

"So are we going to talk about you and Percy?" he asks.

She sits down on the counter and stares at Will, probably at the hickeys on his neck and collarbone that Percy must have given her.

Annabeth sighs. "I haven't even talked about it with Percy."

"No duh, you haven't even talked it out with me! What are you thinking?" he asks.

"What was I thinking," she corrects. "Nothing happened until last night. I don't even know how it happened. I mean, he's been looking hotter and hotter this whole trip and I just blamed it on my dry spell but then he got a tattoo and... Shit, Will, what am I supposed to do?" The way she rambles in his voice is starting to sound familiar.

"What do you want to do?" he asks. "You can't just ghost him; he's Percy Jackson."

"Not helping."

"Do you... you know, like him?" Will asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Annabeth throws her head back against the bathroom mirror. "I don't know. At first, I thought it was going to be a one-time thing, and I'm not really sure why I thought that was going to work out, but the way he... Can I get detailed?"

"Can I put some pants on you?" Will asks.

Annabeth tosses him a duffle bag.

He gasps. "I ironed this only for you to just throw them in here! You monster!" He puts on a pair of underwear and Annabeth averts her eyes, which is kind of funny because it's her ass that's out. Gods know Will's seen it more than anyone else.

Annabeth sticks her hands in the pockets of the jeans she picked out for Will.

"Right," he says. "Details. Sorry."

"He was like... Will, nobody's looked at me like that since him when we were dating, and I knew it. I saw it in his eyes the whole time and I didn't stop him," she says.

Will raises an eyebrow.

"I was on the bottom, Will. Like, missionary position."

He gasps. "Did Annabeth Chase make love last night?"

"Maybe? Will, please put a bra on," she says, facepalming.

"Nothing you haven't seen before." Will clasps the bra and laces his arms through the straps. She didn't pick out a complete clown suit for herself—just a white cropped long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of maroon shorts. At the bottom of the duffel bag is Will's favorite red scarf—the one he bought for Annabeth. He holds it in his hands, letting the fabric fall between his fingers, and then he gets an idea.

He looks in the mirror and ties the scarf into Annabeth's curly hair like a bandana headband. It's pretty. She never wears her hair like this, so it's a welcome change.

The real Annabeth—the one in Will's body—ignores this, instead asking, "Are the clothes okay?"

"Well, I look good in your clothes," Will says, "but you gave me a straight persona. It's presentable, at least."

Annabeth smirks. "I'll take it."

Will finds some makeup from the toiletry bag that'll do and starts to apply makeup to the hickeys on his-slash-Annabeth's neck. The shirt covers up most of the ones across her chest, but her body still looks like a leopard from the neck up.

"So what's the plan?" Will asks.

"Honestly?" Annabeth asks.

He can recognize her scheming face, even if it's on his face. Whatever's about to happen is not going to be good.

She purses her lips and looks between her and Will. "Okay, this might sound crazy, so just hear me out."

"Maybe... Maybe we should just go get Nico and Percy to help," Will says. "I think I'd like Nico to know so we can avoid any awkward-"

"No, definitely not..." Annabeth says, lost in thought.

"Annabeth, please, he's my boyfriend-"

"I've got it," she says. He can almost hear the little cash register dinging in her brain. "We'll just assume each other's identities. If there's one thing I've figured out during this quest, it's that we can't trust anybody. Anybody could be working for Pothos. Hell, anybody could be Pothos."

"Okay, so let's go find Nico and Percy and-"

"No, they can't know," Annabeth says, picking at one of Will's nails.

Will, with only one eyeliner wing finished, looks at Annabeth and asks, "Why not?" He knows Annabeth is a little more cutthroat than him regarding top-secret missions and stuff, but Will can't say he's okay with his best friend kissing his boyfriend for the sake of a plan.

"I can't just not tell Nico about this," he says. "He's my boyfriend."

She rolls her eyes again. "Seriously, Will? When has that ever mattered to us? You know we work better when it's just you and me. Besides, I don't want to do anything that could put Nico in danger."

"Or Percy," he adds. "I'm sure you meant to include him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

He heads toward the door. "You know perfectly well what I mean. I don't know how you feel about him, but you can't rush into anything. I don't want you getting hurt."

"So this is about you not wanting Percy to hurt me when just a few days ago you were forcing me into situations with him," Annabeth says. "Real mature, Will. Do you want us to make up or not?"

"Oh, I think you've made up just fine," Will snaps back. He doesn't like to be mean, but he can't help it. He's losing Annabeth, the best friend he's ever had, and the only person who really gets him. She knows him even better than Nico does.

He reaches for the doorknob in the bathroom and steps out into the carpeting of the room. It reeks of sex. It's disgusting.

"You listen to me, Will Solace," Annabeth says. "I appreciate you caring for me, but I can care for myself. I'm not made of glass. Percy's not like him."

"You can't even say his name!" Will shouts back. "You're making a mistake."

"Will-"

"I'm leaving." He slams the door behind him and stomps down the hall in just a pair of grippy socks he stole from a hospital.

It's harder than he thought it would be, but he pushes the thought of Annabeth, alone and on the brink of hysteria, on the cold hard ground of the bathroom.