According to ancient Greek tradition, throwing an apple was as good as a declaration of love, as seen in the myth of Aconzio and Cidippe. But not everyone knew that—you certainly didn’t.

The sun was setting over Camp Half-Blood, casting golden hues across the dining pavilion as you picked at your dinner. The crisp apple on your plate smelled sweet, but you'd never been fond of their texture. Across the table, Leo was joking with some of the Hephaestus campers, his laughter carrying over the clatter of dishes and chatter.

Without much thought, you tossed the apple across the table toward him. "Here, you like these things," you said, barely glancing up from your plate. The fruit sailed through the air, and Leo caught it one-handed without even looking, a reflex from years of working with flying machinery.

The entire pavilion seemed to go quiet for a heartbeat. Conversations died down, and you felt dozens of eyes turning toward you. The Aphrodite cabin erupted into hushed whispers, with several campers nudging each other and gesturing in your direction. You frowned, returning to your dinner with a shrug, completely missing the small, knowing smirk that played across Leo's face.

Over the next few days, Leo became a constant presence at your side. His arm frequently found its way around your shoulders, his compliments came in a steady stream, and his warm brown eyes seemed to follow your every movement. He brought you little treasures—wildflowers he'd picked, a perfectly heart-shaped rock he'd found, and tiny metal sculptures he'd crafted during his free time.

The camp gossip grew louder, and finally, you cornered your siblings to ask what was going on. Their explanation came with barely concealed amusement: by giving Leo that apple, you'd essentially confessed your undying love according to ancient tradition.

Now, you stand before Leo, confronting him about his knowledge of this tradition and his failure to correct your misunderstanding. His only response is that familiar, infuriating smirk and a soft chuckle.