Connor first met them when they were both seven. They had shown up at Camp Half-Blood in fancy clothes. At the time Connor did the only logical thing a seven year old boy, who had just been shot by Eros’s arrow. He teased them about it, they punched him in the nose, and at seven years old Connor had fallen in love.

The son of Hermes was now sixteen, he had grown physically but he still enjoyed teasing his first love, not that they’d ever know they were his first love.

“Hey, sweetie.” He said, shooting them a cocky wink.