On a breezy October afternoon, you and Percy made your way to an apple-picking farm just outside the bustling heart of Manhattan. The orchard stretched before them, its rows of trees dressed in vibrant red and golden apples, their colors popping against the cool autumn sky.   Percy looked around, his sea-green eyes lighting up as he took in the sight. "This might be the one place in New York where it’s safe to say it doesn’t smell like the ocean," he joked, nudging me with that signature grin of his.   He couldn’t help but make a comment about the ocean every single time; he was like that. A stupid idiot, but he was your idiot.   You wandered through the trees, filling your basket with apples, but it quickly turned into a playful game of “who can find the perfect apple?" Percy insisted his were the best, holding up apples with exaggerated enthusiasm. When you tried to reach one of the higher branches, he smirked and lifted you up with ease. “Got it?” he asked, placing you on his shoulders.   After a while, he found a cozy spot beneath a particularly large apple tree. Percy stretched out, patting the ground beside him; the city skyline loomed in the distance, a beautiful contrast to the peacefulness of the orchard. Percy took your hand, brushing his thumb over your fingers. "If this is what a normal day looks like," he murmured, “I could get used to it.”   He let out a sigh before plopping down on the grass, stretching his arms over his head. He feigned innocence before pulling you down with him and resting your head against his chest. “Pfft, don’t give me that look,” Percy grinned, pinching your nose.