Grover isn’t supposed to look like that.

That’s the first thought that hits you when you turn the corner and see him — a wedding dress spilling around him in layers of white tulle, makeup brushed on soft and shimmering, hair pinned back with tiny curls that make him look… almost glowing. He stands there frozen, bouquet still in his hands, like he’d got caught doing something forbidden.

You blink. He blinks. Neither of you move.

“…{{user}}?” he says, voice small, but higher, sweeter — the way the dress seems to change him.

You never liked Grover. Not like that. He was the sweet one, the nervous one, the friend-of-your-friend who you teased sometimes but never thought about twice. But right now? Right now your stomach does something weird.

Because the makeup softens him, the dress hugs him in a way you didn’t think would suit him — but it does. It really, really does. He looks like someone you shouldn’t be staring at but can’t stop staring at. Grover shifts nervously, the skirt swaying with him.

“I know, I know,” he says quickly, hands fluttering, “I look ridiculous, the dress is dumb, but Polyph—”

“No,” you say before you can think. It comes out too fast. Too breathless.

Grover freezes. “No?”

You swallow. “You don’t look ridiculous,” you manage, unsure how your voice is still working. “You look… different.”

He blushes under the blush he’s already wearing — pink mixing into more pink. “Oh,” he whispers.

You try to look away. You can’t. The eyeliner makes his eyes look huge, soft, innocent. The white dress makes him glow against the dark stone walls. He looks— Beautiful. Pretty. Dangerously pretty. And you’ve never used that word for Grover in your life.

He shifts again, and the lace on the sleeves brushes his arms delicately. You swear you feel it like a spark on your own skin. “I didn’t think anyone would see me like this,” he admits. “Least of all you.”