so american olivia rodrigo ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

You and Leo have built a strange kind of alliance at Camp Half-Blood, the two of you bound together as the only ones who haven’t found some kind of romantic entanglement among demigods. At mealtimes, you always seem to gravitate toward the same bench, sitting next to each other with ease, exchanging whispers and inside jokes when the others aren’t paying attention.

For some reason, you're the only one on the Argo II who can match his energy, your humor sliding effortlessly between the cracks of your conversations. It’s like the two of you are carrying the weight of being the funny ones— because gods forbid, anyone else knows how to have a good time on this ship.

For the longest time, you’ve never thought of him as anything more than "just Leo," the guy who's always tinkering with gadgets or cracking jokes. But today, there’s this strange shift.

You're lounging on your bed in your cabin, legs stretched out, absently flipping through the pages of a book you aren’t really reading, while Leo's sprawled on the floor, trying to show off his supposed handstand skills. “No, seriously, {{user}}, I’m, like, insanely good at this. Watch,” he boasts, already half-laughing, his determination exaggerated and dramatic.

He gets into position, his palms flat against the ground, arms shaking with the effort, but within seconds, he tumbles over, crashing down in a fit of laughter. “Okay, that was definitely a fluke. Or— wait— someone’s obviously plotting against me.”

He squints, casting a suspicious glance your way, as if you’re somehow the culprit. His hair, that wild mess of dark curls, falls into his eyes as he runs a hand through it, pushing it back in a way that only makes it fall forward again.

For a moment, you're just watching him, his lips quirked into that familiar mischievous grin, eyes alight with playful energy. Did you seriously find this guy cute?