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It’s his crooked teeth he notices first. Harry tells Niall that himself.
There’s sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear and daisies speckling his shining brown hair. It almost looks like molten gold in the bright sunlight if he squints a bit (Niall is quietly, breathlessly envious. It’s a yearning, and for more than one reason)
“I love your teeth.” The son of Aphrodite tells him cheerfully, all excited sincerity and with much more affection than should be allowed for someone who’s actually only spoken to him enough times for Niall to count on one hand with fingers to spare. It doesn’t make it feel any less genuine, and Niall feels his heart flutter, tentative smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
They have waved though, everyday since Niall’s first day at camp when he’d trailed into the vast dining pavilion behind jovial siblings he’d never met before but would swear he’d known for a lifetime. He’d stare, air punching out of his lungs as Harry would spot him instantly from his seat at the Aphrodite table and every time without fail Harry would perk up immediately, practically glowing with happiness, cheeks rosy, and throw up his arm in a wild wave. All for Niall.
A few other heads at the Aphrodite table would turn his way too, throwing him a curious glance and turning away again just as quick, sharing a soft knowing giggle with each other.
Niall politely ignores them every time, raises his own hand in a little wave and marvels at Harry’s pleased grin. Then he’d sit hastily, wait to file in line at the bronze brazier for offerings, eat, go back to his cabin.
Not tonight though, because tonight Harry, the son of Aphrodite, tells him he loves Niall’s teeth.
(he’ll will find that Harry doesn’t use that word sparingly. Even so, he knows it doesn’t mean Harry means it any less the more often he says it. It’s who he is, what he does. Loves with his whole being, his whole heart)
Niall’s staring at Harry, who’s staring at his mouth. Niall’s jaw drops a little.
“I wish I had teeth like yours.” Harry says wistfully and they’re so close Niall could lean forward and kiss him. “Very characterful. Really unique. Beautiful.”
“Your teeth are perfect.” Niall blurts.
“Yeah.” Harry says softly, quiet all of a sudden, and reaches out to thumb Niall’s canine.
They almost startle apart when someone shouts out down the trail to the cabins and Harry huffs, rolling his eyes but he definitely doesn’t step away yet. He drops Niall’s cheek with a sulk and takes all the warmth with him.
“That’ll be for me. I promised the little ones and the Poseidon cabin that I’d teach them all how to fishtail braid.” Harry smiles sheepishly. “Hey, you wanna hang out by the lake tomorrow?”
Niall’s thinking about Harry’s long hair now, where would it fall braided down his back? How is this going to end? How soft would his hair be between his fingers, warmed by the sun? This is some excess nectar or ambrosia fever dream surely? What flowers would he wear? Why is he asking me?
He nods through the hundreds of questions buzzing about in his head (he’s used to them) and listens to his heart for once (it’s a nice change)
Harry’s face lights up and Niall has to blink, swallow, clear his throat. Harry teeters on his feet, forwards and backwards, full of excited nervous energy, trying to delay his departure. He smells likes the cool of the shade on a hot summers day.
The sprig of lavender is being tucked into his hand when Harry says, “I’ll swing by your cabin tomorrow morning, yeah?”
“I’ll bring sun cream,” Niall hears himself say. “It…it feels like it’ll be sunny tomorrow.”
Harry smirks, full voltage and Niall distantly thinks of bows and arrows and the Erotes probably laughing their immortal butts off. “Niall, who needs the sun when I have you?”
Niall wonders what his dad would think of a line like that and then realises belatedly that was a fucking line.
The lavender is out of his hand and behind his own ear in a heartbeat, and Harry throws one last delighted smile and wave over his slender shoulder as he turns a corner down the cabin trail and disappears from sight.
Niall watches him go and runs his tongue over his teeth in dazed thought, both disbelief and hopeful.
Characterful. Unique. Beautiful.
A son of Aphrodite would know, wouldn’t he?