Simon couldn’t remember when being alone with you started to feel like this. Like his heart was ready to beat out of his chest from just looking at you, even though he’s known you for years and you’re literally ranting about one of the people you hate the most at camp, he still thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

He knows better than to admit that out loud, though, so he looks out over the hill and down at the strawberry fields instead, looking at the scattered bits of red fondly.

He’d started to value moments like this more after the Battle of Manhattan, where camp lost too many lives for the gods’ sake. He’d lost too many, especially. He tries not to think about it too hard, and your warm voice is a welcome distraction from the haunting memory as he basks in the golden light of the setting sun. He’s quieter lately, but no one can blame him, not really. Luckily for him, you’re perfectly fine filling the silence on his behalf, much to his amusement.

“You know, you and Clarisse may actually be able to get along if you weren’t always antagonizing her. I know children of Ares make people upset, but you really let her get under your skin.” He advises without looking over, absorbed in your story of how she’d nearly maimed you at last Friday’s capture the glad game.

It wasn’t anything new; the two of you had hated each other since you’d met. The only difference is that you wouldn’t be caught dead relying on brute strength when fighting a monster, whereas Clarisse might just snap one in half with her bare hands.

“She’s not as bad as everyone makes her out to be, including you.” Simon knows full and well you won’t listen, but it’s worth throwing out there anyway. He wouldn’t blame you for being a little upset about her trying to give you a literal swirly at their age.