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Being cursed was something Sinclair wouldn’t have wished on anyone. The way it gnawed at his rib-cage, his heart, his soul, begging him to dictate beautiful words of bloodshed and death.
It’s won before. More than he wanted it to. But there was a saving grace, in the form of Apollo.
Sinclair’s jaw was clenched when Apollo entered the room, the golden aura casting a gentle light he did not have to hide around his dear Author. His eyes were like small stars, gazing down at the troubled mortal.
“It’s asking again.” Apollo stated plainly, sitting beside the Author. This was no new phenomena.
Sinclair nodded, swallowing hard. His knuckles were white from the force it took not to attack, to retrieve the journal from the closet.
Apollo tilted his head, his raven black curls falling over one of his eyes, a breathtaking sight anyday, but one that only filled Sinclair with dread, now.
“I’d like to try something, with your permission.” Apollo smiled, a comforting warmth as he took the mortal’s hand.
“What… What is it?” Sinclair asked through gritted teeth.
Apollo answered with a foam bat in their hands, offering it to him.
“Are you fucking insane?” Sinclair’s tone was far sharper than he meant, and it took all of his willpower not to hurt himself for it.
“I am a God, Sinclair. This is a foam bat. I will be fine.” Apollo answered calmly, standing up and outstretching his arms.
“Please, god, please…” Sinclair whined, sweat dripping down his forehead as his body trembled. “I c… I can’t just attack you.”
“Would you feel better if I fought back?” They tilted their head to one side.
Sinclair mulled it over, finally nodding. He was immediately hit with a pillow, squarely in the face. To both of their surprises, Sinclair laughed.
And so, Apollo continued, swinging again. This time, they were blocked by the bat, Sinclair getting to his feet.
It was different, this odd little play fight, the poetry of attack and counter attack. It was not like the prose-induced violence the cursed book demanded. It would not satiate the blood-lust.
But, at the moment, getting playfully tackled to the floor, it didn’t matter.
Golden eyes met his own deep brown, admiration, worship filling his gaze. It often distracted Sinclair, the fact that a God, someone so terribly important would not only choose to be around him, but to… Love him.
Apollo wiped away a tear Sinclair didn’t know he had shed. With a deep, sharp breath, Sinclair forced a smile, not enjoying how Apollo’s eyebrows knit together with concern.
“... It didn’t work, did it?” Apollo’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“It worked.” Sinclair assured him, if only to see him light up. He knew better than to lie to a god, but Apollo played along.
Apollo lifted Sinclair up easily, kissing his forehead as he carried him to the bed. Sinclair didn’t protest, at least tired enough to sleep off the rest of the book’s call.
He pulled on Apollo’s sweater, silently begging them to hold him. And they obliged, kicking off their shoes and climbing in with him.
Sinclair buried his face in Apollo’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut as the warmth pulled him into an uneasy slumber. The beast quelled, for now.