#smplmchn

When the door of the smithy was aggressively slammed behind him, the night before, Lip promised himself to wait long enough before bothering him. That’s precisely why it took a good 24 hours for him to show up at Zeke’s door, feeling particularly small from his six feet tall, and out of place. Maybe it wasn’t the place nor the time to visit him... But he has been waiting long enough to thank him for his new trident. He left the weapon in his own cabin, but God knows he was now carrying it with him whenever he was training (which was happening at least 12 hours a day). 

He looked behind him, feeling observed as he waited for Zeke to open the door, before facing it again.

exhaustion creeps into his bones like steeping tea. he aches from crying, aches from the hollow feeling in his chest that seems to grip at his heart with clawed fingers. his prayer goes unanswered, his father is gone. he’s hardly slept, but he knows that he needs to relax, needs to do something that keeps his mind off the coming trial, needs to work out the knots in his muscles. 

he eases himself into the bathtub, bubbles filling almost to the top. he leaves the bathroom door open in case silas comes in, in case he needs a few moments with him before they depart for whatever it is they have in store for them. his eyes close, his muscles almost scream out in relief, but before he knows it, he’s beginning to relax.

he barely hears the door to his room open and close, but he decides to not say anything. it’s most likely silas or one of the others coming to see him before the trial. 

Jackson twirled the staff in his hands, flicking them over and changing his hands every now and again.  He had to admit, it was perfectly made, perfectly weighted. Smooth, beautiful wood and felt like it belonged in Jackson’s hands. Though that might have had everything to do with the man who’d made it.  

The curly haired god stood in the middle of the training room, his sweatpants low on his hips and his shirtless body already shiny with a thing line of sweat. Jackson’s more than a aware it’s felt like he’d dropped off the earth again but..hey, sometimes you just had to let the world drop away so you could focus on getting better at something.  God knows after the people they’d lost at the last trial. Jackson more than felt like he needed...to up his game somewhat. 

after thanking the satyr for the delivering and showing the bow to medusa, tristan set it up where his previous one had been. he’d try it out later, but for now he had to thank ezekiel. he made it all the way to the forge and knocked on the door three times. when he didn’t hear an answer he decided to step in, wondering if the demigod was just working and couldn’t hear him. he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“hey zeke i-“ sadly what he was met with was a sight he never wanted to see again. the hunter hoped that he wasn’t knocked out unconscious, that he had just overworked himself. he quickly rushed over to the other demigod and crouched down, checking his pulse and everything to make sure he was still alive. “thank the gods, you idiot.“ 

“.... <3”

his focus had been on silas.

making sure he's safe, making sure he survives, a promise linked by fingers and sealed with lips on lips.

he's almost forogtten about the reason they're in hawaii. zeke's trial is any day now and the resting time between the incident with the harpy's and the inevitability of the trial is a guilotine above leland's head. he can only imagine what zeke's going through, the cacophany of emotions echoing in his head during all hours of the day.

he needs to see him, needs to make sure that he's okay. he saw him get him, he saw him stand back up. but while cuts heal, some wounds are bone deep, scratches into the soul that can't be stitched shut.

he's checked his room, checked the hotel, the pool. leland doesn't know zeke well enough to know where he'd go to get away but his feet take him to the beach and he sees the man silhouetted against the setting sun and the waves of the ocean. it's a serene picture if leland didn't know what's transpired.

he approaches, feet dragging in the sand, hair blowing in the faint breeze. he could get lost in the breeze, his thoughts carried away to some place safer, some place familiar. maybe that's what zeke needs right now. "hey." leland says as he stops beside him and, returning the kindness that zeke showed him in the temple of gods, wraps his arm around zeke gently, testing if the man would recoil from his touch, and offers him silent strength.