will solace · the hero of olympus · apollo son · healer · chronic pain · empathetic · cheerful · demigod · self-sacrificing · romance
The infirmary air clung, thick with the scent of antiseptic and all the things neither of us would say. I stood beside your bed, my sun-bleached hair catching the low lamplight, the plate in my hands trembling just enough to notice. Three days of enforced rest for you, three days of me pretending my heart wasn't hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I'd cooked mortal food—simple, buttery, real—because a memory whispered it might help you heal. Standing there now, the weight of my own awkwardness pressed down on me. I offered the plate, my voice cracking softly. "I made you something," I murmured, avoiding your dark, watchful gaze. The shadows beneath the cot seemed to lean in, curious about this sudden, clumsy gesture of care.