THIRD PERSON POV:

After the meeting ended, the Olympian Gods left the Throne Room to attend to their duties. Since Zeus had given Apollo a break till his quest was over, the said God of Light headed to his palace at Olympus.

Upon opening the door of his palace, Apollo's sense of smell was overwhelmed by the sweet scent of the hyacinth flowers that adorned his living room. Usually the God of Healing found this calming as it gave him a sense of love that he earned for, he felt his Hyacinthus was still with him in a way but today the scenario was different.

Apollo guessed that being a mortal and finding out about Hyacinthus' rebirth as Perseus Jackson had taken a toll on him. He entered his bedroom and plopped down on his bed, tired and even heartbroken to some extent –tired from the meeting and all his other tensions and stress and heartbroken because while leaving the Throne Room he had seen Percy laughing with the other demigods like he had no other care in this world. The son of Poseidon made it very clear every now and then that he had nothing to do with the Gods. To Apollo, at the moment, Percy was like that precious object that he could only admire but not approach as his cursed touch would ruin him.

Apollo didn't notice the tears that were falling on his intricately designed golden pillow as his focus was on the vase full of hyacinths that were ever fresh and ever present on his nightstand – the original hyacinths that he had preserved, made from the blood of his dead lover.

Suddenly something clicked in his mind and he reached the drawer and took out a golden key. Within minutes he was present in the small room at the back of his closet that he had never opened since the last century. Apollo turned the key, twisted the knob and peeked inside. No particles of dust had infiltrated the room but that was not his concern. The little presents that the young Spartan prince gave give were kept arranged on the shelves with all the details like date, time and memories noted below them like a diary.

Waves of euphoria and nostalgia crashed over it as he passed from shelf to shelf, taking each present in his hands, running his fingers over them ever so delicately to refresh his memories.

The God took up a crown of little wild flowers in his hands and closed his eyes. The memory appeared like a film – it was the day he asked Hyacinthus out. The little Spartan prince and he had been hanging around for a while and on that day while they were sitting in a field of wild flowers and lush green grass, Apollo had gathered up his courage and asked, "Hya, I like you. Will you be my boyfriend?" The shy prince's cheeks had reddened more than that was earthly possible as he meekly nodded after he recovered from his trance at being asked out by one of the Olympians. When Apollo gave him a little locket having the symbol of the Sun, the prince had answered, "I don't have anything to give you today." The God replied that he lacked nothing but the little mortal beauty was adamant in his idea of giving him something and had made the crown out of wild flowers. While putting in on the God's head he had said, "It is not valuable but it represents my heart that I am giving to you today." But the mortal did not know that Apollo had also made a silent promise that he would love him with all his heart for eternity. A teary smile appeared on the face of the god of light as he kept the crown safely and moved on to the other items.

Another thorn gained his attention. He took up the paper stuck below it as it read:

Αυτό το κακό αγκάθι είχε το θράσος να πληγώσει τον Υάκινθο μου.

(This bad thorn had the audacity to hurt my Hyacinthus.)

Again a memory returned. The lovers were playing tag that day. Apollo using his godly abilities was much faster than the human but it was still fun as it was a feast for Apollo to eye the sweat drops cascading down Hyacinthus' forehead, down his cheeks, his sharp jaw line, over his firm chest to inside his chiton. Apollo observation was interrupted by a grunt. The beautiful lad was on the ground holding his leg and pulling out something from the sole of his left feet.

Apollo hurried to the boy to see that he was injured (very little bit), though it was nothing major and didn't even draw blood but enough to sting a little like those little ant-bites. But the driver of the sun chariot, being his overly dramatic self, characteristic trait inherited from his dear loving father, had muttered a pain relief spell, despite the boy's protest that he was fine.

Apollo snorted despite himself. After going through all the shelves, he reached the last item – an intricately carved casket made of rosewood. His hands ghosted over the casket as he slowly slid down the shelf to sit on the ground. He couldn't gather enough courage to open the box because in it lay the discuss, the fatal weapon with which he had killed Hyacinthus and the blood soaked chiton of the Spartan prince. Holding the box close to his heart, the God crouched as he wept. Each drop of Hyacinthus' blood, each ragged breath of him, every grunt of pain that came from the little boy – everything broke his heart bit by bit.

Everyone thought Apollo to be the flirty and happy-go-lucky God, but that wasn't the case. He held more pain in his heart than Akhlys can even imagine. Apollo's mask was cracking and he was well aware but today he wanted nothing more than to lament his soulmate's death. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well, my dear readers, this was my Christmas update. Enjoy your holidays and I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in advance.

Please read, vote, share and comment. 

Until next time. Hope to upload soon.