Apollo still mused about him. Sometimes. A drifting thought, fragile as a patch of seafoam, catching on the sand and left behind when the waves drew back in. Bubbling on the shore, fragments popping, until there was nothing left. Then Percy would disappear from his mind and Apollo would be in peace.
But always, inevitably, the tide washed back in, along with gallons more foam. It was all thanks to proud Poseidon, even more consistent than Apollo's chariot. The father of the tide and of him.
Sometimes, Apollo wondered if he'd made a mistake. What a silly notion. It was expelled from the possibilities almost as swiftly as it occurred to him. He was the sun, the light, the music and the art, everything that was most dear to humanity. He did not make mistakes. And any myths that portrayed otherwise were incomplete. It was always someone else's fault. Of course, a god was so easy to blame. Gods had experience, wisdom, power. Mortals, however impressive they might be, were riddled with faults.
How could Percy expect him to remain faithful? Appalling. He was a mortal, for Zeus' sakes. His black hair was regularly tangled, a cyclone, matted mess. Apollo had hinted at it, even offered some tips, but Percy never seemed to care enough to fix himself. And his skin. Like all humans, it was an oily invitation for the worst of zits and blackheads. While they'd been dating, Apollo's eyes had often caught onto those little imperfections. Apollo had tried to smile and laugh through his disgust. He thought, maybe he could be beautiful enough for the both of them. And how easily Percy could make him laugh…almost made the idea plausible. But then Percy would join in his laughter and his teeth would flash, and Apollo couldn't stop himself from noticing how the bottom ones were ever so slightly crooked.
How could Percy be angry? It should've been enough that Apollo left his bed on Olympus for him, finding time to tangle in the sheets together and to make Percy feel like a god. Was Percy really surprised? All he had to do was to glance over at Cabin number seven and see how close in age Apollo's children were. Apollo had a wealth of affairs at any given time, including all walks of life. Humans, demigods, immortals, nature spirits, he didn't discriminate.
Free love, he liked to think of it.
"Free love" was what made Percy break up with him.
(It was also what made Percy cry at night, when Apollo slipped into the shadows of his bedroom and watched him in secret.)
Although Apollo knew it couldn't be his fault, nothing ever was, he wondered. Sometimes. How things would've been if Apollo had just cut off his other lovers. Only ever waking up to Percy, his lopsided smile and his lazy lids, puffy in the morning polish, fluttering over the depth of his eyes. Those eyes were Percy's singular, perfect feature. They were, after all, inherited from a god. Radiant and fathomless, as green as the leaves of a pistia floating on a pond.
But strangely enough, Percy's perfect eyes were not Apollo's favorite feature. It was Percy's laugh. A sound, invisible to scrutiny. Hardly a masterpiece by any standards, but it was music. A brief, familiar tune that Apollo never got sick of. He'd written poems about it while they were dating, giving them to Percy on special occasions. He still wrote poems about it. But the scraps of paper ended up at the bottom of Apollo's drawers, or folded inside the glovebox of his chariot, instead of Percy's soft, mortal hands.
Sometimes, Apollo regretted...not even attempting monogamy. Sometimes, he was terrified that he'd been in love with Percy. Not the flighty, flimsy net of infatuation. But sincere feelings, that savagely clawed at his chest when he sometimes wondered for too long.
One night, after finishing his daily trip through the sky, Apollo teleported down to earth into Percy's cramped bedroom. It was empty. Percy should've been home by now, hunched over his homework or tapping at his laptop, idly chatting with a friend through an Iris message.
Apollo glided through the walls. He wasn't substantial, lacking the flesh and bones of lower beings. He was just light. A crack peeking through the window blinds or the blinding reflection off of metal. He distorted and morphed, fluidly one form and then another.
No sign of Percy in the kitchen. With the force of a thought, Apollo restocked the cupboards full of Percy's favorites. He wasn't on the couch watching TV and the bathroom door hung open, vacant. Apollo might've given up if he didn't hear the voices trickling in from the hallway.
Apollo was there in a second, hovering inside a fluorescent bulb and taking in the scene below him. Percy had obviously returned home at some point. He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a Walking Dead t-shirt that was a size too small. Apollo used to take him shopping all the time, just for that reason (growing boys were like weeds). But he had to admit, the mismatched clothes had a certain charm to them, and it didn't hurt that Percy was naturally cute. Among mortals, at least. Right beside Percy, closer than Apollo was comfortable with, stood a tall young man with chocolatey curls and an athletic build.
Both mortals were holding stacks of mail. Percy's hand was hovering over his door knob, but he wasn't opening it. He was too busy talking to the young man, engaging in a story about their rude landlady.
Apollo didn't like it at all. They weren't dating anymore, but that didn't give anyone the right to flirt with Percy and cause those splotchy red spots to appear on his cheeks. The young man called Percy a good storyteller (which was a boring compliment, Apollo could think of something much better), and Percy flashed a smile. On some level, Apollo was aware that his teeth were crooked, but he just couldn't see it.
"So...what are you doing Friday?"
"Friday?" Percy echoed. "Well, I've got a Calculus exam in the morning. It's gonna be a barrel of laughs, I can already tell."
The young man chuckled. "I could help you study, I've taken that course before. But I mean, are you free later that day?"
Percy had always been a little slow on romantic gestures, as if he couldn't possibly believe anyone was interested in him. He blinked and his eyelashes looked lovely.
"My friends and I are having a big bonfire on the beach," the young man continued. Really, of all the places he had to pick? "We're grilling hot dogs, roasting marshmallows, all that good stuff. I bet you'd be killer at ghost stories."
"Oh," Percy said. "Okay. That sounds like a lot of fun."
"Cool," the guy grinned widely. Just the force of a thought, and Apollo could disintegrate him. It was definitely tempting. "I'll knock on your door at six, and we can drive down together in my car."
Percy nodded. Finally, finally he was turning the knob. "See you."
"Yeah. Hopefully soon." The young man lightly nudged his knuckles against Percy's hand, the one hanging at his side and clutching his mail. Then, the young man turned around and disappeared through the door across the hall.
Percy slipped into his apartment and shut the door with his back, sliding down until his butt hit the floor. The envelopes fluttered down from his grasp. Percy was much more interested with his hand itself. The one the neighbor had brushed up against. Percy held it in his lap and gazed down at it, wiggling his fingers.
Percy must've been disgusted. After being with a god, the intimate touch of a mortal had to be repulsive. Yes, that had to be it, Apollo thought with growing triumph. Percy must've missed Apollo as constantly, as achingly, as Apollo missed Percy.
All of sudden Percy let out a peal of song-like laughter. Light and bright, both realms of Apollo, just as music was. Percy brought his hand to his lips and tenderly kissed the backs of knuckles. With his knees tucked against his chest and his messy hair falling over his face, Percy looked beautiful like always, but also incredibly vulnerable.
For all his feats and fame, Percy was as mortal as any human on earth. He was labelled with an expiration date. Mortals had to move fast with their emotions, or they'd never get around to feeling anything at all. And Percy, it seemed, was already moving on from Apollo.
When Apollo shimmered out of the apartment building, back to Olympus, he did not incinerate Percy's neighbor, though the man would've deserved it for stealing Percy away. Apollo despised him with the blistering strength of the sun. Any other lover, and the suitor would already be a pile of ashes.
Percy was different. Apollo did not want Percy to hate him, and even more importantly, he did not wish to make Percy cry anymore. He did not need to be the god of prophecy to know he'd be agonizing over Percy for the next few centuries, replaying the tune of his laugh long after Percy sighed his last breath. Immortality was not so much better than mortality. An eternity was stretched out in front of him to mourn his mistakes. Apollo had made so, so many.