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Apollo does not watch Percy Jackson.
He very pointedly does not observe Poseidon's Favored, or guide his rays to paint his skin in deeper hues when he's under Apollo’s sun. Apollo does not soak up the stories his children tell of Percy when he visits them at camp, nor does he steal glances of him faster than mortal eyes can perceive when they happen to drop by at the same time. Apollo does not avoid Dionysus’ knowing glances or Chiron's weary sighs.
His infatuation, once noticed, was all-consuming, so he tried not to feed it. Infatuation turns into love, and love leads to dead lovers and beautiful flowers. Apollo has learned his lessons. For all the strife in his life, Percy has a penchant for creating happy endings. Apollo refuses to ruin that. The garden of his heart is already too full.
(Apollo is fine.)
Really though, Percy truly has done so much for Olympus. Despite his near innumerable feats, not a single one of his rewards was to the benefit of himself. Is it a crime for Apollo to take extra care with Friday sunsets when he knows Percy and his friends are watching? It's just showing appreciation. Being thankful is something gods don't know how to do, but Apollo has more understanding than most. And due to recent… experience, he has a deeper cognizance of demigods than any god would care to consider.
He never has been accused of being tactful, but Apollo can tell when his presence isn’t wanted. No demigod is as disillusioned with gods as Percy Jackson, and it shows in his dismissive attitude and disrespect cloaked as reverence. It wouldn't be accurate to say he lacks fear, it's just that Percy has stared Thanatos in the eyes one too many times to care. His cavalier attitude is revolting as it is impressive, and Apollo is far from the only one to have noticed. No, not at all.
The demigod is coveted, by major and minor deities alike. Percy has been propositioned by various immortals in several circumstances, yet all it achieved was a single unimpressed eyebrow. To Percy Jackson, all gods are the same. Apollo is not naive enough to believe he’ll be the exception.
He will not interact with Percy Jackson, and the demigod will live his mortal life. Apollo will not watch from afar as Percy ages and wanes from the winds of time, nor will he mourn too deeply when he inevitably takes residence in Elysium. All Apollo has to do is wait a few decades, and everything will be normal once more.
___
Nothing was normal, and Apollo knew with absolute certainty that it would not be for some time. Normal was gone, destroyed, and rewritten by the ascension of Percy Jackson. The demigod has traded his red blood for gold. Anyone who spent at least a minute in his presence marveled at his power, but in an ironic twist of fate, that same power consumed Percy whole as his mortal shell could no longer meet its demands. Godhood came for the son of the sea one last time, and did not take no for an answer.
What was extra curious about the case of Percy Jackson was that the ascension happened on its own, with no outside help. When questioned on the possibility of causing his rise, Poseidon vehemently denied it. Shockingly, the old god had discovered the news mere hours before he ascended. Truth sang in agreement with Poseidon’s words as his chest puffed up with pride at his favored. In contrast, Zeus grew more murderous by the second. Apollo would call it poetic justice.
When the King of Olympus proposed godhood to Percy in the ruins of the throne room after Kronos had been defeated, it wasn’t a genuine offer. Apollo knows his father, he knows the lightning god did not offer out of some sense of kindness. He only made the proposal to keep the then-demigod under his thumb.
It was part of his convoluted grand scheme, as everything else that involves Zeus tends to be. Make no mistake, if Percy said yes, the god would have granted it to him. But it would come at the price of having his power kept on a lightning-controlled leash, a fate worse than death for a child born of the sea.
At most, Percy would have the same status as Heracles, and his divinity would be minor. If he planned it carefully enough, Zeus could’ve orchestrated Percy’s Fade within two centuries, and his nuisance would have been doomed to eternal obscurity.
When Percy said no, he avoided a fate he would’ve wilted under. His choice was accepted by Zeus since it meant he would inevitably die a gruesome demigod's death sooner rather than later. The door to immortality had closed for the son of the sea. Or, so he thought.
In all his wisdom, however, Zeus never considered Percy Jackson ascending on his own. No one did, save for the Morai. The king’s consequences came in the form of an Olympian-level god who owes him no fealty, backed by the Styx and the Sea. Perseus is wild, new, and something else entirely. He’s breathtaking.
Against his ironclad will, Apollo feels the emotion he’s not acknowledging grows in leaps in bounds. Independence has lost its crown as the dominant theme of Pop Music, and love has taken its place. Lyrics have taken a whiplash-inducing switch from "work hard, play harder," to “you don't know my name.” Beating drums and thumping beats have given way to the soft press of keys and the gentle whisper of violin strings. How funny it is, for Apollo's favorite domain to betray him. He'd laugh if he wasn't so tired.
When he is in Olympus, Aphrodite glides by with onyx hair and laughing emerald eyes. His paintings utilize cool-tone color palettes filled with shades of blue and green. Apollo's poetry has taken a mind of its own, and the Muses exchange more concerned glances by the day. Every day, it's something more. It's maddening, this emotion, and it never ends. Perhaps he should have more sympathy for Sisyphus after all.
Time passes, and Apollo still refuses to give what he feels a name. Names have power, and if he calls this by its name, it will be far too late for him to return to normal. (If he was honest, it already was.) It may be silly, but he still has hope. That has to count for something, anyway.
In the comfort of his Sun Palace, Apollo lounged on his gauzy poster bed with only his poetry book as company. Curiously, he looked down at the words he wrote while daydreaming. His jaw clenched.
I’d double-cross my own blood before I’d make yours boil.
The page ignited in a sudden blaze of glory while Apollo’s eyes glowed gold. The book was thrown across the room with a sudden yell of frustration, landing with a thud and lying innocently on the floor. Completely unrelated, an unprecedented heat wave reaching the high 90s wreaked havoc on North America in the middle of December.
Apollo carefully did the breathing exercises his Oracle taught him, and calmed his temper. All has to do is last an eternity with Percy existing in his peripheral. It’ll be fine. Apollo can manage.
___
When you’re an immortal being who has lived for millennia, time and its perception hold little to no weight. Decades pass in the blink of an eye, and centuries are minor milestones. A year shouldn’t even be worthy of notice, yet somehow, Apollo knows its been three and a half years since Percy became Perseus. Each day that passes, the devotion that took root in Apollo’s chest grows like a particularly stubborn weed. And oh, isn’t that something? Phoebus Apollo, Slayer of Python, One of the Twin Archers, devoted. Lester Papadopolous has been gone for some time now, yet it seems his heart remained. How fitting.
Apollo wanted to be angry. He wants to roll his eyes at the sight of Percy frolicking under his sun, as if Apollo wouldn’t see. He wants to scoff at his unceasing kindness to his mother, and his playful bickering with his sister. He wants to laugh mockingly at his persistent need to help sea creatures in need and disregard Percy’s plans to create a Greek haven similar to New Rome. Apollo wants to do all of that, but he cannot. His not-watching feeds the flames in his chest, and it burns without rest or regard for Apollo’s wellbeing. If he had a drachma for each one of Asclepius’ worrying looks, he’d be as wealthy as his uncle. Apollo is tired.
Maybe, Apollo thought, he was a fool to fight it, but he gave it his best effort. Regardless of how he tried, all he had to show for it was failure. What he felt for Percy was far past infatuation, and there was no hope of stopping it now. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, Apollo realized with a sudden clarity. All roads lead to his broken heart.
Unable to bear the weight of being alone any longer, Apollo appeared in his sister’s tent in a flash of light. Silver eyes locked with gold, and Apollo dropped to his knees. Standing was too much of a hassle.
“Artemis,” he rasped, dropping his head in her lap. “Make it stop. Please, make it stop.”
Her cool fingers threaded through his hair, massaging circles with her fingertips. Apollo basked in the comfort.
“I can’t do this,” Apollo whined. “I can’t, I can’t, I don’t want to!”
“You can’t do what, brother? What ails you?” From the knowing gleam in Artemis’ eyes, she already has an idea. Apollo has no doubt she’s known for some time, but her prompting is more for his benefit than hers. It’s Apollo who has to admit a truth he’s been hiding from.
“Apollo,” she said softly. “You must say it.”
Silence reigned as the loudest in the tent for one minute, and then another. Apollo stubbornly kept his face in Artemis’ lap. Then, gathering all his courage, he said the words he’d avoided for years.
“I’m in love,” Apollo whispered. “And I can’t stop it.”
Artemis hummed in encouragement and didn’t move Apollo’s head even as her skirt grew damp from tears. If it were any other day, he would’ve teased her about getting soft. Now all he can do is cling to her legs like a child. He repeated the three words like a broken record. I love him, I love him, I love him.
“I love him with all I am! And I wish I did not!” Apollo keened as wept bitter tears, a sound he’d allow only Artemis to hear. “He’ll never love me. He’ll never want me. I am doomed to have my heart trampled just at the thought of him, and I can do nothing about it. I love him so much it hurts, Artemis.”
The twins found themselves wrapped around one another as Artemis held her brother as tight as she could. “This will pass,” she soothed, even though neither of them believed it. The words were good to hear regardless. “You will recover and all will be well.”
Apollo and Artemis remained interlocked on the floor of her tent as the day progressed. The overcast was grey and gloomy.
Even in his pain, Apollo’s devotion grew.
___
Percy was somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains with Grover when he felt a stirring in one of his domains. Loyalty, he realized, was preening in glee. When he paused to investigate further, he was awed by the golden string that sang dedication. It shone as brilliantly as the sun.
“Percy?” Grover tilted his head in question. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Percy shook his head and resumed his steps. “Let’s go.”
The string echoed yours-yours-yours-love-love-love over and over again, yet Percy found he didn’t mind it. It was a gorgeous song to hear.