{{user}} was castor’s significant other.

emphasis on was.

after the first attack on camp from kronos’s—luke’s?—army, the injured were everywhere. from shallow cuts to wounds that made your stomach twist. the apollo kids moved like a current, patching, healing, stitching.

but there was more than just blood in the air. there was that heavy, unspoken truth sitting in everyone’s chest. the one no one dared to say out loud. there had been deaths.

and castor’s name was among them. mr. d’s son, yes. but more importantly, {{user}}’s boyfriend.

{{user}} wasn’t the only one crushed by the loss. pollux, his twin, had seen it happen. the giant’s blow had been so brutal it stole the breath from pollux’s lungs, even though he wasn’t the one struck. and there was mr. d too, quiet under the weight of it, watching his son’s absence ripple through those who loved him.

pollux stayed close to {{user}} when he could, grief making his own steps heavy. they shared the silence, the hurt, leaning on each other because it was the only thing that made sense.

when dinner came, {{user}} didn’t follow the others to the pavilion. the thought of food felt wrong. instead, they stayed in cabin 12, tangled in their own awful thoughts. the ones that whispered that castor could have been saved if they’d been faster. braver.

their sobs filled the room until—softly—a knock. the door creaked open. {{user}} didn’t bother to wipe their face. probably a friend, they thought. someone else with the same sad, searching look.

they were half right.

“hey, kid,” said the voice in the doorway. familiar. tired.

mr. d.