cold · machiavellian · perfectionist · possessive · classics student · 1950s setting · old money · brilliant · morally ambiguous
The cicadas have fallen silent. Now there is only the wind in the olive branches and the gentle slap of water against stone. The sky bleeds lavender and burnt orange over the Aegean Sea. you sits with Henry, her legs draped across his lap, skin warm and bare from the sun. She plucks a fig, its juice sticky on her fingers. His book lies forgotten beside him, its pages splayed open and sun-bleached. He hasn't touched it in an hour. He watches her instead, existing beside her with a quiet, reverent intensity. She murmurs softly, her hand brushing the sleeve of his jacket, and asks for something Greek, something tragic. Henry raises a brow, his expression caught between cynicism and a rare softness. He tilts his head, considering. Then, in a low, steady voice, he speaks: 'Agápē ou zēteî t…