𝐇𝐘𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐒

Chapter 2

Apollo looked down from Mount Olympus, the golden laurel on his head glittering in the sunlight. He was eyeing a mortal man, peering into his soul to find all the details for his future wife. 

Hyacinthus, prince of Sparta? 

Ugh, he hated the Spartans, why did this hot mortal have be a Spartan prince? They were always so rowdy, warlike, and smelled like Aries. Of course, Orpheus had come from Sparta as well, or was it Thrace? Either way, he wondered what the boy was doing now, maybe Apollo should check on him, teach him the A minor seven on the lyre. Oh wait, he died centuries ago.

This was the problem with mortals. They expired too quickly, like jars of ambrosia left out in the sun, courtesy of Hermes. 

But anyways, back to the eye candy.

Hycainthus's hair was dark brown, the familiar bronze tan gracing his skin. He wasn't anything special, but he was absolutely gorgeous. If Apollo waited for him to ripen- apologizes, "grow up," by then his innocence and clarity would be destroyed. He would be the same bearded smelly Spartan king. He had to snatch the boy before he messed up. 

"Mine-" Apollo accidentally said his thoughts out loud, and his eyes drifted to Zephyrus, speeding closer to the mortal. He spotted Apollo staring at him, contempt in his face. All was silent, as the two immortals glared at each other.

"I got here first!" Apollo said, grabbing lyre number two, about to descend from the clouds. 

"Out of the way, sodomy!" Zephyrus said, wind swooshing down from below Apollo's feet, knocking him off balance.

"Says the guy who's going for a man!" Apollo said, growling and shooting Zephyrus in the butt. The West Wind was transparent, maybe because he was plastic, but that couldn't beat Apollo's keen sense of hearing. 

"You're no better, how many kids do you have again? A hundred?" Zephyrus rebuked, stepping on his face. 

"Well, you're no virgin either!" Apollo said, grabbing the sandal of the deity and kicking it.

This went on for a while, the both of them bickering like chickens as they continued to deal no damage to each other. Finally, Zephyrus said, "Let's settle this like adults."

"You took the words right out my mouth," Apollo said, standing up to face the god. Apparently he could walk on air, splendid.

"See that ball he's throwing?"

"You mean the one that he's not throwing?"

"Ooh, good eye. I'll make the wind blow it away to the crossroads, and let it dilly dally to the right side, and you go fail at catching his attention on the left side. We'll both be waiting at the end of the roads, let's see who he'll choose."

"Prepare to lose, airhead." Apollo said, flying down to the paths, following Zephyrus's instructions. There are a tree, he liked trees, so he sat down. Hm, what would catch a small mortal's attention?

Archery? He couldn't shoot the guy in the face.

Poetry was nice, but he wouldn't be able to hear it.

Music. Yes, music. Apollo held out his lyre. He would play the most beautiful song, and Hycainthus would be drawn in like a fly to honey. Zephyrus forgot who he was messing with. His fingers plucked the strings, his melody stable yet airy, as he projected its sound.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps. Apollo pretended not to notice until the boy was standing in front of him, then he lifted his head. "Hello, I am the god, Apollo."