Mab

His head hurt.

His eyes burned.

The soft smell of hyacinths filled his senses, reminding him of the love he had lost, the love *he* had killed. Apollo groaned, his head falling into his hands.

His siblings on Olympus said he looked tired, Helios pushed him to let him take the chariot out, to rest. He didn't always need to work, he said. He could take care of it, he said. The sun could rise and fall without him. But if that were true, if the sun did not need him, if he didn't cast his warmth upon the earth, if he couldn't write poetry, or sing, then what could he do?

Why exist if he couldn't even do the job he had been born to do?

Something soft brushed against his mind, soothing, calming. His eyes felt heavy, the urge to sleep pulling at him-

*Hypnos*.

Apollo almost gave in to the silent request, the soft nudge. He was tired, he was so tired. But how many times had he fallen asleep this night only to startle awake? How many times would his eyes snap open, his heart beating out of his chest?

(*How many times would he have to see Hyacinthus? To live in a world that didn't exist anymore? To suffer that heartbreak over and over again?*)

No.

Apollo didn't have the strength.

Not tonight.

Another night, perhaps. Another night, perhaps even he could stay a while longer. If reality was kind enough to let him be.

Of course, he wouldn't be able to outrun Hypnos for long, he didn't *want* too.

Hypnos was-

He was admittedly a god Apollo had never had much dealings with before. Apollo brought the dawn, carried the sun across the sky. His domain often meant the people started to wake, leaving Hypnos' realm to go about their day until night fell once more.

They were opposites, but Apollo felt himself drawn to him all the same. Looking at Hypnos was like looking at the loveliest dream, something beyond his imagination. Apollo was surrounded by beauty on Olympus, but Hypnos was out of this world. His soft, dark hair that flowed behind him like waves of clouds, his eyes like night, the gentle smile that sat on his lips.

Artemis had always said he missed out on the best part of the day when he fell into bed after work.

He hadn't realised how right she was.

Hypnos was a dream, a comforting presence, the Lord of Sleep.

Then why did it keep escaping Apollo so? Was it Hypnos that controlled the dreams (nightmares) that plagued him night after night? Or did Apollo's guilt conjure it alone.

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