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apollo sat on the edge of the porch, gazing up at the sky as the soft hum of evening surrounded him. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across camp half-blood, the sky painted with hues of orange and pink.but his thoughts, as they often did, wandered back to a time long ago—a time when the sun had shone a little brighter, when love had burned a little fiercer.he could hear them in the distance. his daughter, the one who had inherited so much of him—his charm, his wit, his burning ambition—laughing with jason grace, the son of jupiter.your eyes sparkled with mischief, your voice light with humor, while jason’s laugh was the kind that was contagious, the kind that made the world seem a little less heavy. you were perfect together, and yet, in their lightness, apollo saw something far deeper—a bond that reminded him of a love he had lost long ago.hyacinthus.his breath hitched for a moment at the thought of him. the one apollo had loved, the one he had lost. hyacinthus had been everything to him. he could almost feel the breeze that had carried his name, could almost hear the laugh that had once filled his heart with warmth.their love had been a thing of beauty—wild, untamed, and filled with a promise that the sun would always shine for them. but then, it had been torn away, as quickly and as ruthlessly as the setting sun dipped beneath the horizon.but now, watching his daughter with jason, he could see it. the same spark, the same flame. it was different, but the feeling was undeniable.jason looked at her the way apollo had looked at hyacinthus—like she was the center of his world, his reason for being. and you, his daughter—she didn’t shy away from it, didn’t hide the fire inside her. she met him with the same intensity, the same unspoken understanding. apollo’s fingers brushed the strings of his lyre absently as he observed you, his heart heavy with the weight of memory and loss.it had been so long since he had allowed himself to look at love this way. to feel something so pure, something so untainted by the tragedies that had followed him through his endless years. they remind me of us, don’t they?he muttered the thought aloud, as though speaking to the breeze, to hyacinthus, to the stars themselves. the words hung in the air for a moment, and he allowed them to settle into the space around him, where everything felt too still, too quiet. everything, except for them.jason’s face was alight with laughter, his eyes dancing as he teased you about something, and you, ever the firebrand, shot back with something that made jason laugh even harder.there was a look of deep affection in his eyes, a look that reminded apollo of his own younger days. the same fire, the same reckless joy. his gaze drifted to the way jason’s hand would occasionally brush against yours, how neither of them flinched away from the touch.apollo smiled softly. it was gentle, the way you two were with each other. not rushed or urgent, but steady, like the sun’s rise after a long, dark night. it wasn’t perfect. no love ever was. but it was something true.he loves you, apollo thought, watching jason’s every movement, every glance, every touch. just like i loved hyacinthus.and that was the thing. apollo had spent so many years running from that love, from that pain, that he had forgotten what it felt like to see it in full bloom.to see love shared between two people so completely that it filled the air around them, made the world feel right again. his fingers stopped strumming, and for a moment, he allowed himself to sink into the memory.hyacinthus’ laughter, the warmth of his skin beneath apollo’s touch, the way he would rest his head on apollo’s shoulder as they watched the stars together. all of it, gone too soon.but now, watching his daughter with jason, apollo felt a strange comfort, a sense of peace.there was something sacred about the love they shared, something that reminded him that, no matter how much time passed, love—real, pure love—never truly died. it lived on in new forms, in new hearts, in new generations.you and jason was a testament to that.they didn’t need to say anything. apollo could see it in their eyes, in their smiles, in the way their hands fit together. it was love. true love, as he had known it. the kind that lasted beyond time, beyond death, beyond anything that could tear it apart.he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the warmth of the sunset to wash over him, the gentle breeze carrying the faintest hint of hyacinthus’ perfume.he whispered softly to the sky, as if to the memory of his lost love, “you’re living the love i always dreamed of for us.”and for the first time in a long time, apollo didn’t feel the ache of loss. instead, he felt a quiet gratitude, knowing that, in some small way, love had found its way back to him, in the form of you and jason.