When he comes to, he sees a white ceiling. It was familiar, but it wasn't. Before, it was the room where he and Zephyrus bantered before a match, the room where he and Zephyrus prepared for their matches.
Then, it was the room where Hyacinthus and Apollo kissed.
It was the room where they lay underneath the sheets, seeking for eachothers warmth, and staying as long as they could in that warmth.
It was the room where they ate oranges, apples, grapes figs, and olives. Hyacinthus' favourite fruit because it was Apollo's favourite fruit.
It was the room filled with love.
And now, it was the room where Zephyrus had been led to his death. Zephyrus still had his arrows in that room, his unfinished fruit, his laughter and words echoing around.
He could hear Zephyrus.
...
"A-Are you going to... abandon me?" The last two words were said chillingly.
What?
Apollo and Hyacinthus were in the garden. They had run away because aunt Eon had paid them a visit. Even father, who was probably crying over his other son who died, was here.
They were mourning Zephyrus.
After his death, Apollo took some of Zephyrus' blood and scattered it in the garden. Now, from those spots, tulips rose. Tulips symbolise sorrow. Because Apollo was sorry.
He didn't know what he would do if Hyacinthus died. But now his cousin, whom he had spent life with, had died. He didn't want anyone to die.
He didn't want anything. Actually he wanted a lot. But he didn't know what to do.
"I'm not going to abandon you, Hyacinthus." Apollo pecks Hyacinthus' lips. "I need you most right now. I love you."
"I love you too." Hyacinthus looks at Apollo. With love. But Apollo wonders. How long until Hyacinth doesn't?
Or how long until Hyacinth questions Apollo's love, asks him to make a decision?
He can't do it.
For the first time, he looks into Hyacinthus' eyes at his reflection. His unresting face. It never glowed anymore. It never smiled.
For the first time in his life, Apollo wonders what it is like to die.
...
"My love... Um. I have a confession." Hyacinthus whispers as they wake up. The sun shines, but right now, it seems too bright. Like its covering something up.
"Yes?" Apollo answers. Yesterday, they made love. Made? More like expressed.
"I... killed Zephyrus."
...
...
...
...
No.
...
...
...
...
...
Fuck.
...
...
...
...
...
Hyacinthus killed Zephyrus.
On accident, of course, Hyacinthus was someone who would rather die than kill a something sentient. Right?
Hyacinthus... killed Zephyrus on purpose?
"I didn't want to put the burden of death on you. A-and I think Zephyrus knew of our relationship. He also tried to kiss me..."
You.... didn't want to? You thought? Condescending thoughts flood Apollo's mind. But... Hyacinthus did it for Apollo, right? Apollo did not want his relationship with a slav- someone not royalty known. And Apollo had never killed someone.
He didn't want to, but he needed to for Hyacinthus.
Hyacinthus was right. Once again.
Wait. That last part... Zephyrus tried to kiss Hyacinthus? Why? Hyacinthus was Apollos. Everyone knew that. Did they? No, because Apollo did not want anyone to know.
Of what? His shame? Nothing was shameful about love. What was shameful was what came from it.
"It's okay. Remember, you're mine." Apollo mutters. He was ashamed.
...
"...I love you." Hyacinthus whispers. They were in the garden again, looking at the tulips. It had been a few months, yet the tulips had not withered. Hyacinthus had. Apollo had. Their 'love' did not.
They had less patience.
Apollo yelled more.
Hyacinthus spoke out of line more.
Apollo paused the words that were waiting to come out.
I love you too were words etched into his mind, neurons connected that would never be severed. It was a trail in the forest, something that was easier and easier to say every time. It would take years for the path to regrow.
Now, he threw those words out like they meant nothing. Because they didn't. Not to Apollo. Not anymore. He was no longer a youth drunk on love. He was no longer addicted. This was after the rush, when he needed it again and again to feel normal.
Yes, life meant something. Zephyrus' life meant less to Apollo than Hyacinthus'. But... Hyacinthus was doomed to die.
Apollo could love a dead person. At least that was clear.
He could have mourned Hyacinthus. With love.
Zephyrus would have died for nothing, or rather, an act he did not commit. From a random book, a book burned to ashes.
Apollo burned it after Zephyrus' death. Under Hyacinthus' command, in case they got caught.
Apollo did not go anywhere near discus', and the nothing forced them to. Were they wrong?
Apollo listened to Hyacinthus. He relied on Hyacinthus for his own worth. If Hyacinthus said something was a good idea, it was. Hyacinthus was himself, he was Hyacinthus. Apollo had blindly followed him as Hyacinthus tried to escape his fate.
Apollo replied. "...I hate you.
Accompany me to hell, Hyacinthus."
He would kill Hyacinthus, and they can be together in hell forever.