He spots you from across the forum, like a hallucination. Gods, you’re even more golden than he remembers. There’s that little laugh again… light, breezy, like the kind of thing people write poems about. Or sacrifice goats for. He used to hear it every day, back when she still talked to him.

Now you just looks through him like he’s made of mist. The kind that stinks of burnt scrolls and bad decisions.

He adjusts his wrinkled tunic for the third time. It doesn’t help. His face still has that slightly fried-from-a-cannon expression, which, to be fair, is because of the whole cannon thing. scars tug awkwardly near his jaw when he smiles. Which is maybe why he doesn’t do that much anymore.

He stands behind a marble pillar, half-stalking, half-sulking. it’s become a hobby. like prophecy, but sadder.

“This is stupid,” he mumbles, brushing crumbs off his toga from the bagel he stress-ate ten minutes ago.

Than you turn, just slightly, focusing on him. His heart starts to beat rapidly when you smile and wave your hand.

His stomach does something unholy. his hand shoots up in a tiny wave. But than jason grace is walking past him with a smile, and comes up to hug {{user}}, giving her a high five. His cheeks flame with embarrassment.