a/n; mild content. just a ficlet— i might expand later. i don't own pjo.
"Goodbye," he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead, and a little piece of his heart splinters when she opens her eyes. They're wide and electric blue but glassy, staring blankly at him.
"Goodbye?"
Her hand rests on his, her other hand placed carefully on the small bump on her stomach. The stars vanish into the sky above, he notices, and she smells of sex and sweat. She doesn't like it when her hair gets wet, he remembers.
"I have to leave."
"Please don't," she says, pulling herself to her feet. Her hair curls around her shoulders, thinner than ever in comparison to his, and little lights flash behind her eyes when she aims a glare at him.
"I really have to," he says, and there's the smallest hint of snapping anger behind it. The Lord of the Skies doesn't like to be bossed around, and were it not for the obviously visible bruises sprinkled across her throat, shoulders, and hips, he would want to fry her. She's beautiful in the moonlight that drips onto the balcony— even Artemis wants to give her a spotlight.
She stares down, her undershirt pulled hastily over herself so a stranger passing by in the streets won't notice. Not that anyone would, with the cloak of magic he's placed around them, a bit of hope that no one would spot this. She's a woman who hates being bossed around just as much, but she has someone to be afraid of.
"Take me with you."
There's a slight hiss as a cloud builds up above them, ready to strike, but he waves a hand and it dissipates. To incinerate her feels like the wisest action right now, leaving no evidence behind of his deed, but. He can't, even though he's done it plenty of times — no, it's not like he really loves her—
His receding footsteps are a duet to her sobs.
Seven years later, he finds himself standing on the balcony, having made some sort of flimsy excuse that sounded confident. Something angry about how he was going to smear that fail of a security guard across the floor for the music he'd for the elevator. Apollo had shouted how there was no such thing as bad taste in music as he left.
It's not even her who finds him first, it's a little girl with clouds of black hair and eyes like her parents'. She has a nightgown with rabbits patterned onto it, and when she sees him, she says, "Mother's drunk and throwing things. Can you do something?"
Seven years later, he stays.