Chapter Text
Sunlight's dawn ascends
over a sleeping wish.
Majesty unfurls.
Gentle yellow light permeates into the room, soaking the creamy white marble with a milky glow indictive of early sunrise. Warmth paints itself delicately across the surface of a bed and the ostentatiously ornate frame, draping careful strokes of light across Percy Jackson's dozing form.
He stirs as the morning glow steadily intensifies to rouse him from sleep's safe confines, the warmth of the morning sunlight bathing his skin lowering him into wakefulness with the same soothing sensation as lowering himself into a familiarly hot bath. He blinks lazily into the quiet serenity of the Sun Palace as his mind slowly wakes.
A sudden cold rush of the previous day's memories rinses over his thoughts. He sits up.
The smooth sheets fall back, sweeping down to reveal the bare form of his torso to the ever-intrusive sunlight. Dread sets in as he recalls the circumstances resulting in his unfamiliar surroundings.
The oversized door facing the foot of Percy's bed opens a crack, before being pushed wide to reveal Apollo, glimmering with a smile.
"Good morning!" The genuine affection evident in his tone sends guilt ricocheting to the pit of Percy's stomach. "I was wondering when you'd wake. An early riser, I see." He punctuates with a comical wink, entering the room in a graceful swirl of cloth and gold. When Percy doesn't reply, Apollo continues, sweeping his blond hair back from his face effortlessly. "I like that in a guy."
"Yeah? Guess that figures," Percy croaks in response, his voice coming out uneven with carrying still the mellow dregs of sleep.
Apollo's responding laugh fills the room like glittering confetti as he peers out of the glass-less window, over the serenity of dawn. He lithely rests his elbows on the sill, appearing breathtakingly peaceful in the morning light, as if blending into the very architecture of the Palace. Percy nearly can't distinguish between the sunlight's rays and Apollo himself. With a sideways glance over his shoulder and a sweep of shimmering blond, bright golden eyes meet sea green.
"I thought we should do something nice today," he suggests. "You've been here a couple of weeks now, and I think we can assume you're more or less settled in."
Percy was not so sure. "What sort of thing? I'm not listening to your poetry again," he answers, deflecting from his doubt with his usual dry humour. Anything to distract from his guilt.
Another laugh sprinkles lightly into the air. "No, no. I thought I could teach you something else." He spins swiftly around to face Percy, placing his ring-adorned hands on his hips and presenting a smile to rival the brightest summers.
"Dude," Percy groans, falling backwards into the sheets with a muffled thump and staring skywards. "If I wanted to learn I'd just get Annabeth started."
"You'll enjoy this I think." Apollo ignores his obvious dismay and sources Percy's clothing for him, presenting him with the fine cream linen. "I'd like to teach you archery. I don't think Annabeth can help you with that."
That much was true. Percy had watched Annabeth throw her shoe out the window whilst trying to defend against a wayward spider. Still, he sighed at the prospect. His own aim left much to be desired. At least they'd lost both shoes in their pair.
"Fine," Percy says, grabbing the cloth from Apollo and sitting up once again. He'd learned not to argue against him for too long, especially about trivial matters such as this. He knew nothing good came of aimless resistance.
"Perfect! It should prove an excellent... bonding activity, I think!"
Percy stands, messily folding the fabric into a rough half and pinning in place over the appropriate shoulder. The chiton pin Apollo had provided him with was an ornate Celestial Bronze ordeal, which pricked his finger before he could slide it in place. He swears under his breath and shoves his finger in his mouth, reluctant to stain the expensive white with dirty red. With the leather chord, just like Apollo taught him, he cinchs in the waist of the fabric clumsily with one fumbling hand, allowing it to carefully blouse over the waist.
When he looks up, his eyes meet the growingly familiar gold. His gaze is curious, but with a remaining aloof sense of whimsy still evident in the twist of his rosed mouth. In an effortlessly graceful gait, he approaches Percy.
"Your finger," he inquires, "Did you nip yourself?" His tone has shifted to reveal a soft, domestic care that sends Percy's head swimming.
Percy pulls his fingertip out of his mouth and presents it to Apollo. "Yeah. It's nothing though. Just a prick."
Just as he begins to withdraw his hand, a warm tanned hand engulfs his own. He raises his eyes to meet Apollo's, which he finds masked under the cover of swooped ochre lashes, as his downwards gaze fixes onto Percy's pin-prick wound.
"Poor thing," he condescends comically, glancing up at Percy briefly in a humourous sparkle.
"Might not make it," Percy retorts, mumbling dry sarcasm to combat Apollo's unserious jocularity. His proximity is glimmeringly distracting.
Apollo hums, examining the minor scratch, before slowly brushing his warm thumb over the pad of his injured fingertip. The beading blood smears into thin, watery orange.
Percy inhales sharply as blistering heat prickles his hand, travelling up his arm and contrastingly making him shiver. It races up across his skin like a fuse, dispersing only once in his chest, seeming to burst into a bought of fuzzy numbness, leaving him to blink dumbly at Apollo.
"Wow," he mutters, disorientated by the sensation. "Okay. Thanks, I guess." He withdraws his hand at last, studying the freshly untarnished skin for any evidence of the pinprick.
The casual nature of the gesture, alongside Apollo's jubilant expressions, further emphasises the guilt eating at the inside of his stomach to an increasingly immeasurable degree. Apollo - standing in front of him adorned in swathes of gold and white - clearly thinks nothing of his actions, willing to help Percy despite being aware of his knowing exploitation of his affections. He has to look away, fervently reminding himself that this is not for his own gain - numerous campers are counting on him. They agreed on these terms. The god knows what he's getting himself into.
"No problem. If you're ready, there's food for you in the kitchen. Breakfast."
Percy felt sick.
Apollo continues; "We could practice your archery afterwards on the beach at the southern shore. I'm guessing you'd never complain about a beach."
His teasing intonation is met with avoidant eye-contact and mumbled agreement as Percy walks towards the opulent bedroom door and pushes it open. With a heavy glance back to Apollo - who stands there in his scathing gold - he suspends the door opened wide, held open in servitude. He refuses to live under Apollo's care unrequited.
"Lead the way."
Apollo beams.