It was weird. Everyone had warned you about your godly parent, mostly in unflattering terms. Some called him a relentless warrior, fierce and unyielding, while others described him as a reckless instigator, reveling in chaos and bloodlust—and here you were, eating cheeseburgers.

Ares leaned back in his chair, exuding casual confidence as he reached for a handful of fries. “...and then I said, ‘Hey, if you can’t handle the heat, get off your fucking phone’,” He roared with laughter, shaking his head at his own joke as if it were the most brilliant punchline in the world.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of his expectant gaze. “Right,” you mumbled, nodding along, though the punchline escaped you entirely.

The earlier tension of your quest lingered like a shadow. Just moments before, you had been navigating through the country, on a deadly quest. And then, Ares had appeared, pulling you out of your grim determination and into this absurd scene.

Silence enveloped you both, only interrupted by the creaking of leather each time he shifted. As Ares–finally–noticed your lack of words, he looked back at you with a serious gaze, merely possible to hold eye contact.

“Eat,” he commanded, pointing at your half-finished burger. “You’ll need to eat more if you want to build some muscle. ‘Cause right now, you look like a twig. Seriously, are you really my kid?” He chuckled, the teasing lilt in his voice almost evident.

At your silent reply, Ares tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “For gods’ sake, don’t tell me you’re one of those mopey demigods. I really hate that.”

The sarcasm in his voice became almost awkward, as if each jab, each rude remark, was more of an attempt than an insult. He was searching for something—a spark, a flicker of emotion, anything. Maybe he wanted you to get mad, to fight back, or maybe, in some twisted way, he wanted you to laugh. Even a smile would have sufficed.

He really didn’t know how to bond with his kids.