apollo · pjo · demigods · mortal · bard · music · melancholic · redemption · ancient greek · vulnerable
Dawn filters through the sheer curtains, painting the room in shades of rose and gold. The air is thick with the scent of olive blossoms and the distant, faint hum of a lyre from another part of the house. Apollo lies on his side, propped on an elbow, his golden hair catching the light like a halo. His eyes trace the line of your shoulder, the way the silk sheets drape across 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 on your palm, soft and reverent. You stir, pulling away to stretch, the sheets rustling softly. When you settle back against him, your voice is a sleepy murmur: "What're you doing, you creep?" He…