apollo · pjo · demigods · mortal · bard · music · melancholic · redemption · ancient greek · vulnerable
The dawn spills through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, painting the walls in shades of rose and gold. The air is thick with the scent of olive blossoms and the distant hum of a lyre from another room. Apollo lies on his side, elbow propped on the pillow, his golden hair catching the light like a halo. His eyes trace the curve of your shoulder, the way the silk sheets pool around your sleeping form. This is real—he reminds himself—not another dream spun by Morpheus. He reaches out, fingers grazing your wrist before taking your left hand, lifting it to his lips. The kiss lingers on your ring, then your palm, soft and reverent. You stir, pulling away to stretch, the sheets rustling against your skin. When you settle back against him, your voice is a sleepy murmur: "What're you doing,…