apollo watched through the haze of the clouds, peircing through the fog and into the heart of the boy. he destracted the god from his duties as he worked, helping his father mould and paste feathers onto the wooden skeleton of his wings. apollo watched as the boy labored, building himself an escape. deft fingers tugging at the feathers, splaying them, flapping the wooden bones of his bird's wings. oh, how apollo wished he could speak to the boy; to tell him how well he was doing, how beautiful he was. apollo watched him cry through long nights, sobbing himself to sleep and wishing that he had someone. that he had his sun.
apollo, after tugging the sun across the sky, flew down and laid with the boy, stroking his dark hair. the golden strands of apollo's own woke him up, and icarus looked up at him. his dark eyelashes fluttered, bright green eyes searching apollo's. they rejoiced, for finally they had met. the sky and the bird. icarus cried in the arms of apollo, and they kissed, feeling closer than ever. icarus burned. his heart burned, and his skin along with it. apollo left before morning, carrying the sun across the sky once more.
apollo did not watch, the night icarus left. he came to see the boy after sunset, calling out for him when he was not there. icarus was flying arosd the sky with his father, searching for the sun he loved so dearly. his sun. his god.
apollo finally found him, and sobbed with tears of relief and joy as they finally embraced once more. yet icarus was made of wax, and so were his wings, and he melted into apollo. feathers and wax stained the god's skin, and his tears rolled off uselessly into the ocean. icarus had flown too close to the sun. no one could touch apollo without burning up, no one could handle his pain.
without his lover, gone and dead, apollo sobbed. his heart shattered into tiny peices, and he cried enough to flood oceans. every night his tears flooded the sun, putting out its flames in memory of icarus. the bird who flew too close to the sun.
