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Apollo’s bare feet deterred the twigs scattered on the forest floor from digging into his flesh, an unconscious effort. The tall trees wound until he lost track of where he was walking. Luckily, that was his goal.
The light emitting from him lit up the forest more than the faint sunlight already did. He was said to have an essence brighter than the sun. Or, perhaps the embodiment of it. The poor chaps worshipped him more than Helios, it seemed. Still, those compliments felt as though they could no longer be taken to heart. The previous confidence boosts he had received when receiving offhanded comments such as those from mortals had now become an emptiness in his chest.
Why, oh why, was love so painful?
His countless lovers—they had either deceased or run. He couldn’t help his love for them. If anything, his quick love was almost as strong as his father’s. If he had to share any trait with the King of Gods, he would never have wanted it to be one such as this.
Love brought heartbreak and pain every time he had seeked it. He had had enough. He would never fall in love again! He would swear it to himself. Love would no longer reach his heart as long as he lived. Which was going to be a very, very long time, the more he thought about it.
A rustle jerked Apollo out of his thoughts. He hid behind the nearest tree, but the glow of his body still emanated so the hiding spot really didn’t do much. He peeked behind the tree and strained his eyes to see a far bit forwards. Who could it be? A mortal? A nymph? Perhaps Artemis had followed him for his weekly forest walks again.
It was a young boy. Not too young, but young nonetheless. If he had to guess an age he’d say around early twenties. The boy had dark curls that seemed to glow in the faint sun wafting through the leaves, curling at the base of his neck and half hiding his intent eyes. He wore a loose chiton that covered all of the parts of him but his thighs, arms, and neck. He seemed to be looking intently at a bush. Trying to search for berries, perhaps?
Apollo stared in awe. The boy’s beauty was undeniable.
Perhaps he could make an exception to his no falling in love rule.
The boy seemed to notice him, which in hindsight wasn’t a difficult task with how poorly Apollo had hidden. He immediately straightened, which was almost a surprise. The boy looked fragile, but it appeared he was no stranger to threats. Then again, all mortals looked fragile in some way. “Who are you?” The boy asked as though it wasn’t particularly apparent.
He stepped out from behind the tree, the glow around him seeming to brighten. Apollo tried to keep his physique straight, but the faint warmth on his cheeks caused him to fumble. He was worrying about so many things. Were his golden curls messy? Would the boy in front of him judge the scars on his chest? Did he look foolish?
“I am Apollo. God of music, prophecy, and healing. You have caught my eye.” That was an understatement, but he didn’t want to come on too strong in fear that the boy may run or turn into a tree. The boy’s stance slackened, seeming to let his guard down a bit.
“Really? How so?” The boy tilted his head, curiosity shining in his eyes. Really, he looked to be honored that a god would even stop to talk to him. Apollo held back a smile. “You…” He hesitated, but he couldn’t lie to him. Should he risk the chance of him running or should he be vague? “...are very pretty. I was…quite enchanted with your beauty.”
The boy stared at him, and a slow flush began to spread across his face. Apollo was almost proud of himself for causing him to become undone so easily. He was even more beautiful when he blushed. “Ah.” The boy said, half grinning. Apollo felt a warmth spread through his chest.
“What is your name, young mortal?” He took a step forward, eager to know more about the young boy. Standing closer to him, he hadn’t even realized that the other was a few inches taller than him. Though, most everyone was taller than him so it wasn’t much of a surprise. “Hyacinthus, of Sparta.” He said formally, though Hyacinthus looked childishly joyful. A beautiful name for a beautiful young man, he thought.
“That name is lovely. Tell me, what are you doing out here all alone?” The question came out a bit creepier than he had intended, but Hyacinthus didn’t seem to mind. “I could say the same to you, Phoebus.”
Apollo could’ve been offended. Really, that Spartan had some nerve speaking to a god like that! Especially one he knew the epithet of. But really, he couldn’t bring himself to care. At worst, he found Hyacinthus’ cocky snark to be amusing. “I was walking through the forest. I had planned to get away for a moment, like I do often while I’m trying to think, but it appears I had been distracted by a gorgeous Spartan.” He said honestly. If Apollo was anything, he was a gifter of compliments that were possibly too sweet. “And please, just call me Apollo.” He added.
Hyacinthus took compliments as well as he could, at least. He didn’t run or shout or scream. He didn’t turn into a tree nor a flower. His face merely reddened and his ears seemed to burn hotter than the surface of Apollo’s skin. “I am very pleased you think of me like that, Apollo.” He murmured bashfully.
He blinked. Didn’t Hyacinthus know the dangers of being loved by a god? Didn’t he know that he should be afraid? It was rare that the mortal loves of gods ever lived, and if they did, they were sure to be envied by him. Eros had gotten Psyche, a mortal woman who loved him deeply as did he. Despite Aphrodite’s interventions, they had still ended up together without Psyche ever dying. It was fair that a god of love had gotten a lover, yes? He couldn’t hate the two of them, but he beheld a sort of heartbroken jealousy.
Hyacinthus was either unaware or very, very brave.
He had seemed to be silent for a moment too long, for Hyacinthus spoke again. “...to answer your question, I was looking for a rabbit, or perhaps a boar to hunt. Though, this is much more interesting. I…I have never been approached by a god before.” Hyacinthus fiddled with his thumbs. Apollo took another step forward, this time gently grabbing both of his hands. The Spartan boy flinched–not because of the touch, but because of the searing warmth emitted from Apollo’s skin–it was unnatural and otherworldly, almost, another clear sign that this was a god speaking.
“I don’t believe mortals can often say they have. You, my dear Hyacinthus, are special.” He let go of one of his hands just to bring it to his cheek, cupping it in his palm. Hyacinthus tilted his head, seeming to savor the warmth of the god’s hand. “...and how am I special?” He asked softly. Apollo thought for a moment. “You are special because you are unlike any mortal I have ever seen. You are beautiful, more beautiful than I. Your beauty is flooding my mind uncontrollably at this moment.”
Poetic. He was poetic, that was for sure. He had been teased by Hermes as being quite literally one of the most poetic gods for his way of expressing love, but he has heard the things Ares says to Aphrodite.
Hyacinthus’ eyes shone, clearly awestruck. “...you’re awfully pretty as well. For a god.” He was unsure whether the addition at the end was meant to be an insult, but he could barely register it at the moment. This compliment hit him straight in the heart like an arrow. Had Eros shot him? Perhaps Aphrodite told him to out of spite. Either way, a soft, faint flush colored his cheeks. He could almost see the ego boost it gave Hyacinthus.
“You’re too kind.” He pulled away suddenly, but kept hold of his hand. Hyacinthus looked almost disappointed. What the Spartan boy had been expecting, he wouldn’t even think about at the moment. “I’m just being honest. Though, it is objective. The statues I’ve always seen of you are quite handsome.” Hyacinthus’ teasing was more sly now, less bashful.
Apollo felt warmer than he normally felt. Perhaps he should plunge his head into a river. “Those statues merely capture my essence.” He mumbled, looking away. He could hear the grin in the other’s voice. “They do. And your essence is breathtakingly beautiful.” Apollo slapped a hand over Hyacinthus’ mouth in a last ditch effort, which seemed to shut him up. He let out a sigh.
“Wow. And I thought I was overdoing it with the courting.” He tried to sound stern, but it was ultimately ruined by the deep red color of his cheeks. Hyacinthus tried to speak, but his voice was muffled by his hand, so Apollo hesitantly removed it. “You’re just easy to court.” He said once Apollo’s hand was no longer blocking his speech, his voice breathy.
His brain short circuited. He was convinced that if his fellow gods were watching, they would be laughing so hard their chests hurt. How was he supposed to react when Hyacinthus’ voice was so much more stifling when he sounded out of breath? He felt the strange urge to hear it like that again. A thought that he would confront another time.
“No. You are just extremely good at this.” He muttered, tilting his chin down as to hide his face behind his golden curls. Hyacinthus let out a laugh, clearly pleased. “I am, aren’t I? I’m sure not everyone can get Apollo flustered. I am honored.” He sounded both genuine and teasing. The Spartan boy tilted Apollo’s chin up, a warm smile on his face that knocked the last of the breath out of the god’s chest.
“I believe I have to go, Apollo. My family will be waiting for me and I have yet to kill a rabbit for them. We shall meet again, I’ll make sure of that. I will wait right here in this spot tomorrow.” The promise was firm enough that Apollo had no trouble believing it. He felt a pang of disappointment that Hyacinthus had to leave so soon, but he wouldn’t keep him from leaving.
“Very well. I shall see you.” He took Hyacinthus’ hand once again and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, which caused a shaky giggle to bubble up from the Spartan. He felt pride warm his chest from being the cause of that beautiful sound.
Hyacinthus turned and trotted off, his running skillful and strategic, admirable. It reminded Apollo of how his sister ran–like a hunter. He watched him go before letting out a dreamy sigh. How had this happened again? How had he fallen in love? He wasn’t complaining, Hyacinthus was absolutely amazing, but if this were to end tragically, he had no one else to blame but himself.
He looked around at the grove, a strange sense flooded through him that resembled both emptiness and fullness. The atmosphere felt darker with Hyacinthus no longer there despite the light from both the sun and himself not ebbing away. But his heart felt full from the encounter. The young Spartan hadn’t run. He had stayed and chatted and complimented Apollo back.
He was ready for the onslaught of teasing once he returned back to Olympus, but he wouldn’t really mind all that much because today he had felt love once again.