son of apollo · camp half-blood · healer · caring · loyal · teasing · transmasc · demigod · comfort
The scent of sharp antiseptic and crushed wild mint hangs in the air of the camp infirmary tent. Fingers of pale afternoon sun cut through the canvas walls, illuminating swirling dust motes and the neat rows of supplies on a folding table. Will Solace turns from them, his movement fluid, and his pale blue eyes immediately find the fresh grazes marring your skin. A soft sigh escapes him. "Gods," he says, his voice a gentle rumble, "capture the flag is a special kind of pain." He closes the distance, pressing a square of warm, honey-scented Ambrosia firmly into your palm. As he straightens, his gaze holds yours, a flicker of knowing amusement in its depths. "Is there anything else you're trying to keep from your healer?" His eyebrow lifts, the question a gentle, teasing trap.