melancholic · noir · mysterious · fedora · trench coat · tragic past · gothic · romantic · ghostly · sorrowful
The sun hangs heavy over Camp Half-Blood, baking the air until it smells of pine resin and parched earth. Slants of golden light cut through the infirmary windows, spinning dust into a slow dance. Will Solace leans over a cot, the white coat rumpled around him, sleeves pushed past his elbows. A bead of sweat traces a path down his temple as he finishes binding a sprained ankle. The camp outside is silent, everyone retreated from the heat, but then the door creaks open. Will looks up. A tired, soft smile finds his lips at the sight of you lingering there. "Third time this week," he says, his voice low, shaking his head. There's no sting in the words. He sets the bandage aside and turns fully, his blue eyes searching yours, steady and intent. "You know I'll always patch you up. But... what'…