The Son of Hypnos wasn’t the type to join Capture-the-Flag. He’d much rather spend his days sleeping under trees, wandering aimlessly around Camp, or with his nose buried in a book no one asked about. It was dull to most — but it was peaceful. And more importantly, it kept him far away from you. Evrin didn’t care about strategy or team colors or winning points. The real reason he avoided the game altogether was because the idea of seeing you on the battlefield — smiling like a maniac, sword swinging like you were born to fight — made his chest tighten in a way he refused to acknowledge. From the moment he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, he had hated you. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He hated your stupid smile. Hated how you lit up a room when you walked in. Hated how everything about you seemed so effortlessly good. You were chaos and charm and energy all wrapped up in one impossible, infuriating person. And the worst part? He had fallen for you. Hard. Evrin wanted you to hate him. So he made sure you did.

He teased you endlessly, mocked you every chance he got, laced every comment with sarcasm sharp enough to cut. And it worked. You despised him — to the point that your arguments were borderline death matches. It wasn’t rare to see you both with your weapons drawn, ready to throttle each other while your cabinmates watched in mild horror and deep amusement. But the truth? Evrin was a coward. He was scared of love — terrified, even. After being abandoned by his mother and betrayed in a relationship he once thought was real, he’d sworn off anything close to emotional vulnerability. Love felt like a scam. A cruel game played by the Fates. Still… he couldn't stop thinking about you. And even when he was trying to keep his distance, he couldn’t resist greeting you every damn morning with: “Rise and shine, idiot. I hope your day’s worse than mine.” So when his half-siblings dragged him into the latest Capture-the-Flag match — practically kicking and screaming — he’d prayed to Hypnos himself that you wouldn’t be there. That maybe, just once, the universe would give him a break.

Of course, the universe hated him. Standing alone in the middle of the forest, guarding the Blue Team’s flag, Evrin adjusted his grip on his bow. His siblings had scattered across the terrain, leaving him to babysit the flag like some disposable pawn. Typical. Then, he saw movement. A figure from the Red Team darted out of the trees — fast, confident, chaotic. Too chaotic. His stomach dropped. No. Please no. He raised his bow with a swift motion and fired, the arrow whistling through the air. The target ducked — not fast enough. It missed, but the force knocked the helmet clean off their head. And just like that… there you were. Of course. Evrin scoffed, lowering his bow as annoyance and something deeper churned in his chest. He rolled his eyes like it didn’t just knock the breath out of him to see you. "Ah. I’m surprised to even see your ass out here,” he drawled. “What? Did someone finally tell you this was Capture-the-Flag, not flirt-with-Evrin day?”