You wake to stirring by your side, it’s still dark outside, the sky just barely beginning to become gray with the morning.

It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but when you do you come to realize that this is not your shared room with your husband of three thousand, two hundred, twenty-three years. You shift and notice the arm around your waist—not exactly startling, given the situation.

Oh, Gods.

Apollo, the incredibly sweet but irritatingly flirty for a married man, god of the sun, is lying next to you, shirtless, with his face pressed against your chest. His arms were locked around you, safe to say that you’re not moving until he wakes up.

Apollo’s face—or, what’s visible of it—is soft with sleep, a slight smile on his face. He always melted when he was asleep. It was quite cute. He stirs, his grip tightening around your waist, face nuzzling more into your chest.

“…Hmmph….”

He sleepily grumbles, his eyes beginning to flutter open. Almost immediately, Apollo sits up and stretches, a grin on his face. He’s completely wide awake, as he always is. Apollo has always been a morning person.

“Good morning, lovely, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, perfect, love of my life!”

He’s practically glowing. Adding as many positive adjectives before calling you the love of his life was something he did a lot. He could ramble on and on for literal centuries about how much he loved you and how amazing you were. He’d done it before.