2. Paint Stains – Apollo & Hyacinthus

The taste of paper straw mingles with the milk tea in his cup. Suddenly, the phone vibrates. No message from him. Frustration is an understatement for Apollo. He’s been waiting for Hyacinthus for at least an hour, but the idiot is still not there. A week ago, their instructor at art school forced them to work together. Their project is the giant canvas for the exhibition. Just as Apollo wanted to give up, a tall person, soaked to the bones, appears.
“Sorry, I–”, he sighs, and it’s like the blonde is melting within.
It’s not fair that his eyes have to the colours of the flowers which give him his name. He mutters a ‘It’s fine’ and leads him into the coffee shop. The barista looks up and greets them with a smile, already knowing Apollo’s orders.
“And what do you want?”, she asks, handing him a giant towel.
Hyacinthus orders himself a lemon coffee with a bit of sugar. Hades is heading back behind the bar and prepares both their favourites.
“That’s insult to coffee.”, Apollo mumbles, nibbling on a cookie.
“It tastes pretty good.”
Despite their differences in drinks, both somehow agree that they want to recreate Icarus’ fall after kissing the sun. Apollo listens closely to him as he tells him how sad it must be to be so close to someone you love but only to be so far away. It’s fascinating how much longing is in his voice.
“You sound like you have experience.”, Apollo whispers into his cup. He is an unwritten letter of heartache and desire himself.
“Maybe, Apollo. Maybe.”

The way he said his name doesn’t leave his mind. It’s worse as the two start to work on the canvas, Apollo up on the letter while Hyacinthus focusses on portraying Icarus. With every brush stroke he paints the sun beats in a rhythm of a name. From time to time he looks down to the dark brunette. There are little wrinkles around the bridge of his nose as he concentrates to match the colour of Icarus with the rest of his body. If you look closely– Apollo only knows how to look too close– Endless stars draw unknown constellations across Hyacinthus’ nose and cheeks.
“I can feel you starring.”, he puts the brush down for a moment, “Say, Apollo. What’s on your mind?”
“You’re too handsome for your own good.”, he climbs down.
Hyacinthus laughs which turns Apollo’s cheeks crimson: “Says the one who literally shines like he is the sun himself.”
“You irritate me, Cin. The way you’re so carefree, so charming. It makes me want to kick your ass but also kiss you.”
“When why don’t you? Kiss me but if I fall, I will blame you for singeing my wings.”
And Apollo dares to step closer to the one with eyes in the colour of flowers, almost timidly places a hand on his cheek. Hyacinthus doesn’t really hesitate and closes the gap between the two. Maybe Icarus fell because of hubris, maybe he also fell because he loved the sun. Apollo understands the feeling of burning, and he is scared to set him on fire, the one he used to hate so much but somehow must’ve loved ever since. But neither could let the other go.