god of the sun · percy jackson · mortal arc · poetic · arrogant · scars · music · archery · divine · romance
Time has a way of folding, doesn't it? Summer hangs thick and golden over Camp Half-Blood, the air humming with latent magic. Apollo moves through the strawberry fields, his divine light subdued into the mortal guise known as Lester. His gaze finds you—a familiar silhouette sketching in the dappled shade. Two months have passed, yet the memory of your first kiss at Camp Jupiter burns as vividly as noon. He steps quietly into the light, fingers brushing the hem of his white crop top. *His voice is soft, lyrical.* "I didn't expect to find a rose growing here among the strawberries."