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Sunlight bounces easily off plump strawberries, bushes upon bushes of the glazed, bright fruits spanning across a full field. A lovely tune floats across the expanse of land, reedy and natural. Satyrs peacefully weave through the rows of plants, playing tinny reed pipes and spreading bits and pieces of their magic into the soil and roots of the strawberries.
The Big House stands in the distance, tall and looming, the three-story building a familiar landmark for the residents of Camp Half-Blood. From this angle, you can just barely make out a couple of figures tromping around on the wraparound porch that cloaks the Big House in a hug.
It’s serene out here.
Keiji tilts his head towards the sun, eyes slipping shut as he unabashedly basks in the warmth. Someone lent him one of those floppy sun hats, and while it feels and looks rather ridiculous, he agrees that it is a necessity while spending time in the strawberry fields. A gentle smile stretches itself across his mouth, and he relishes this moment of serenity. Of peace. Of appreciating nature and the outdoors.
It’s not often he gets to relax. Their lives aren’t meant to be easy. Every demigod knows this. It’s embedded in their systems, a twisted fight or flight mechanism that brings havoc and misfortune wherever they go, no matter how hard they try to fix things. He of all people understands this. He of all people should know the misfortunes.
A gentle nudge has him flinching and the boy blinks several times to clear the little white spots at the edge of his vision. His attention eventually turns to the older boy kneeling beside him, also donning a floppy sun hat and yet somehow pulling off the look with ease.
Must be a Demeter thing. He muses, momentarily squinting at this minor conclusion. It doesn’t last, considering his attention is being drawn to the vegetation in front of them.
The pair are kneeling in the soft soil, trowels and a watering can set aside for later use. It’s comfy, the soil. It acts as a cushion for his achy knees, a side-effect from last night’s training session. Of course, nobody knew of these midnight escapades, so he has no real excuse for the soreness besides the ever-so-informative ‘I slept on the wrong side of the bed.’ It only gets him so far.
“You’re quiet.” It’s spoken into the calm atmosphere they share, light brown eyes flickering up to hold his gaze before falling away again. Keiji shifts; picks at the skin around his nails; twists his fingers habitually. A pair of gloves lay in his lap, forgotten. His hands continuously rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, unable to decide if they should remain in his lap or hover over the earth and leaves.
The other boy’s hands are free of gloves, the skin a lovely tan from hours spent in the summer sun. Calloused fingers skim over the soil and plants, minimal but steady touches left in the wake. They move with precision, accustomed to this type of handling. It’s a soothing sight, the gentle care being placed into each individual strawberry plant.
Kita Shinsuke pauses to cast another curious glance his way, brows quirking just enough for Keiji to understand that his question still stands.
“Oh. Well...” What is there to say? The environment is peaceful and he is content with remaining silent and observing Kita’s meticulous movements. He ends up saying as much and is rewarded with a small but meaningful smile.
“I see.” The floppy hat obscures his vision momentarily, and he nearly misses the simple stroke Kita passes across a rather sad-looking strawberry, the color having faded into a crispy brown. The sun had not been kind to this particular fruit. And yet, it blooms under Kita’s gentle touch, a beautiful ruby red that practically gleams in the light.
Keiji can’t help but suck in a sharp breath at the effortless transformation.
Children of Demeter are known for producing life. It’s a natural occurrence but Keiji continues to envy such a gift. In his quiet opinion, it is far better than the balancing of luck, something of which he’s still learning to control. Truly, anything is better than the gifts bestowed by his mother.
So he watches in awe, a little breathless, as Kita slowly scoots down the row, inspecting each and every berry with the pride and care of an ordinary gardener. He follows, pale hands clasped tightly in front of him as they hover over the strawberry bushels.
It’s silent once more, the pair finding contentment in the task at hand to fill the space.
The older boy beckons Keiji forward at some point, holding up the long vines of a rather droopy plant, speaking in an even tone while explaining the problem. “This one needs a little extra watering, a little more nutrient-filled soil and it will be thriving under the sunshine in no time.”
Keiji admires the way those amber eyes sparkle as he speaks. He makes himself useful, retrieving the watering can and passing it to Kita, who dutifully pours a hefty amount over the vines. Keiji pats some extra dirt around the plant, ignoring the coarse texture against his nails, choosing to savor the satisfaction of helping instead.
They rotate between roles after that. Sometimes Keiji pours water, sometimes Kita pats down more soil. Occasionally, he sits back to observe the other boy manipulate the bare minimum of his power, watches in fascination as leaves unfurl, strawberries ripen, plants fill out. Mostly, he either waters or pats.
It strikes him, somewhere along this simple routine, that Kita barely uses the Demeter traits that most of his siblings do while in the strawberry fields. This small development has Keiji pausing, wanting to inquire, but unsure how to breach the topic without sounding nosy or insincere. He wrestles with his words, brain churning for an appropriate tone.
It comes to him, in time.
“Why do you use ordinary methods of gardening instead of coaxing the plants to grow like everyone else?” It sounds reasonable enough, but he flushes anyways when Kita laughs. He throws him a knowing smile, as if that might answer his question.
“Because it’s nice. It feels right.” Kita pushes back his hat, the sun illuminating his face as he wipes the sweat collecting at his hairline. In this light, his eyes burn brighter than amber. Keiji loses his focus for a moment or two. “With repetition and dedication, there are results. Yes, we can collectively grow plants and fruits with a simple snap of the fingers, but where is the reward in that?” He crouches down, hat falling forward to hide his face once more as he gathers a handful of strawberries with open palms.
There’s a pause.
Finally, Kita looks up, seeking the depths of blue that shy away from the steady gaze. “Seeing your hard work pay off is far more of a reward than skipping a couple of steps.”
Keiji remains silent, eyes to the ground, pondering this information.
“Come on. We should pick some of these. They look about ready.” A small, white bucket is placed at his feet, already halfway filled with fruit. It’s quiet again as they pick ripe strawberries. Keiji receives a whole row to himself, tasked with picking the juiciest, reddest berries of the bunch.
The two buckets end up being transferred to a large basket, tons upon tons of the sweet fruits gleaming like gemstones in the afternoon sun. Trowels and watering cans are put away or handed off to another Demeter camper.
There’s just enough time left for one or two camp activities, if Keiji hurries. He bids goodbye to Kita, noticing how easily he hefts up their collection and starts the short walk towards the Big House to drop off the produce.
On a whim, he calls out to the retreating form.
“Kita!” The older boy turns, kind eyes brightening. He holds the brimming basket of strawberries close to his chest, that floppy hat casting a shadow across his face, content smile not easily hidden.
Keiji thinks it’s a fitting image for the head counselor. As if this was always meant to be for someone like Kita. A sort of destiny in the form of proper care and routines over a simple field of strawberries.
“Thank you for inviting me.” That quiet smile curves into a full one, as pleasant and steady as Kita’s initial presence.
“Of course. I’ll see you later.” Keiji nods and lifts his hand in goodbye, unexplainably warm.
He stands alone in the strawberries fields. The sunshine still beats down against his back, the Big House still looms in the distance, and the satyrs still play tunes on their little reed pipes.
Keiji clasps his hands together and smiles.