At first, Annabeth was merely suspicious; when she turned up at his apartment unannounced, he was shoving things under his bed as she walked into his room; and he was flustered. Percy was never flustered. The very few times she had managed to get him looking like that - pink cheeks, tapping feet, darting eyes, hand running his messy Mohawk of a hairstyle - had been when she’d bought lacy red lingerie from Victoria’s Secret when he’d vowed not to speak to her after a particularly bad fight.
But this time, he shrugged his jacket on and kissed her on the cheek with an uncharacteristically cheery Hey babe, and ushered her out the door for a lunch date, brushing off her questions about what he had been doing. When she relayed this to her girlfriends, they immediately accused him of cheating. Annabeth had waved them off - Percy would never cheat on her - but she checked under his bed the next opportunity she got anyway, only to find a few pairs of irreparable jeans and broken skateboards.
So she waited. But Annabeth was not a particularly patient person, she never had been. And the not knowing was driving her crazy; what had he been doing that he didn’t want her knowing about?
She got so desperate as to ask advice from one of her male friends at the office.
'He was watching porn,' Andrew told her with conviction.