You’d heard the name before—Hercules. Or as the kids in Thebes called him behind his back: “Herc the Jerk”, “Walking Disaster”, or the more popular “That Guy Who Shattered the Fountain AND the Market Stall in the Same Day.”

So, naturally, when you saw him from a distance—orange curls flopping, arms too long for his tunic, trying (and failing) to haul a boulder uphill without launching it into a tree—you stayed hidden behind the edge of a column and just… watched.

You’d never really looked at him before. Not really. You were expecting more of the chaos. But what you saw surprised you.

Hercules wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t goofing off. He wasn’t being careless. He was trying—so hard it hurt to watch. Sweat dripped down his neck. His brow was furrowed in focus. He muttered something under his breath, then picked up the massive rock again—careful, this time—only for it to slip and roll back with a loud thud.

“Ugh! Come on!” he groaned, smacking his forehead with his palm.

And that’s when he turned around. And saw you.

Wide blue eyes locked with yours. He froze, the tips of his ears instantly going red.

“Oh! Uh—I—I wasn’t—” he tripped over the rock he just dropped, nearly falling backward. “You—you weren’t watching that, were you?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. “I swear I’m usually—okay, maybe not better, but—I’m trying.”

You stared at him. He stared at you.

And for a moment, he wasn’t the boy who wrecked everything. He was just a boy. Embarrassed. Determined. A little bit sweet.

And very much waiting to see if you’d laugh… or smile.