The Heartbeat (of a god with a hollow chest)
Unlike some of his half-siblings, he and his sister were born from the womb of a Titaness, whose domains include motherhood and modesty. Artemis took a chunk from modesty, swore to protect the modesty and dignity of girls all over the world. Took a part of motherhood and made childbirth bearable. Apollo took the part of motherhood and became the protector of young boys all over the world. He took a chunk from modesty and wove it around himself until he became the very personification of harmony amongst mortals.
With his very first breath, he knew.
Apollon was born with the pulse of the future in his veins, the knowledge that stirred in his ichor, like magma under the earth. Ancient, powerful and reserved. He was born with the melody of nature humming in his ears, his ichor changing tune with every noise he focused on. He was born with golden eyes that saw too much, golden eyes like his grandfather, golden eyes that watched the island of Delos heel under his and his sister's patronage.
Apollon was born with knowledge, music, poetry, archery, all in his senses, ingrained as if he would not exist without them. His eyes saw beauty and pain and turned it into poetry. His eyes saw the future in fragments and turned it into answers for questions that shouldn't be asked. His eyes tracked movements across the world, ready to spill blood at a moment's thought.
With time, he yanked and grasped and snatched as he saw fit. Medicine, plague, cowherds, shepherds, music, art, archery, protection, duty. Apollon took everything that the mortals needed for him to take and regulate.
Apollon, a child born with his mother in terror and the threat of violence over his family's fates even before he had taken a breath. Apollon, half god, half Titan, born with the eyes of his grandfather and knowledge of his grandmother. Apollon, born with the urge to raze and erase, controlling the life force of all of the earthlings and healing them all at once.
Apollon, whose divinity is as fickle as the mortal eyes who perceive him.
Apollo, who walks the Earth with eyes hidden behind reading glasses, hair tied with a pen, a book of poems tucked under his arm. Apollo, who walks with a pep in his step, melody of the world flowing around him. Apollo, who protects young boys with bruises and memories that leave scars on their minds and hearts. Apollo, who laughs as he makes a rhyming riddle, laughs as people do not interpret the truth in front of their eyes. Apollo, who heals kittens with a touch, who feeds filthy hands to wolves. Apollo, who knows too much just from a look.
Apollo, who wears bright colours and all his possessions are stamped or carved with laurels. Apollo, who smells of hyacinth flowers. Apollo, who plays the flute whenever he is in a foul mood, gripping the instrument like he can kill someone with that alone.
Apollo, who keeps the murmurs of Apollon tucked behind his ear, watching the mortals be hopeful in their silly ways. Apollo, whose eyes are blue.
The demigods do not realise the difference between the ancient times and the present. He pities them, honestly. His self control hangs by a rope only made of hope and dark amusement and he pities them all, who test this rope just by existing.
He does not pity Perseus.
While Apollo walks around with laughs and amusement, he sees the demigod's disdain for the divine plain in his sea eyes. Apollo finds it even more amusing. He has known the fate of this man since he was a boy, since he first stepped in front of the Oracle who told him he will lose what matters the most. He knows, the boy's most treasured possessions are not inanimate objects; they are people. His mother, who saw Poseidon, who knew it was not a fisherman but the Father Of Monsters, who walked beside her. His friends, the other little demigods and the satyr, the current Lord of the Wild. His little sister, who has green eyes, not of the sea but of the emerald that his step father has. The cyclops who calls him a brother as if he was saying a prayer of salvation.
Apollo knows all of them, knows their fates from all the prophecies they have stepped foot in.
When they fight against the mother earth, Perseus lives up to his name, instead of the ridiculous nickname he insists on using. He is destruction personified, doing what he was prophesied to do: raze.
The boy's sea eyes are no longer the reflection of the Sun on the Sea, nay, they are the depths of the sea that the mortals are afraid of. As he stands with half a glare and his sword coated with golden dust and the lower half of his face covered in blood, even Perseus' friends refuse to look into his eyes.
The boy challenges all the gods present, demands accountability and justice and Apollo raises an eyebrow. So naive, he was.
There is no justice in the world unless it is snatched.
When Apollo's father tries to blame him for the mistakes of his legacy, Perseus snorts and snarls something or the other about the Augur. He demands justice, again, from the god of justice. And Zeus, who knows there is no justice, does not give him any. But, he does not punish Apollo.
Not that Apollo cares for it, nay. Had he been punished, Apollo would turn his head again and let breath the shadows of Apollon, just until he was at the peak of his power again.
Apollon has killed many, in many different ways. But as Perseus argues with the gods again, Apollo watches the scene unfold and thinks that there must be some poetry in the boy, some melody that Apollo has forgotten to weave into music. He focuses on the boy's heartbeat and it blooms in his ears, the sound of the waves of the ocean, the hiss of burning poison. Apollo does not have a heart. No god does. But if he did, he likes to think he would have matched the beat of his heart with Perseus'. Destruction and beauty. Delicate and dangerous, in one.
Months later, when they sit across from each other with their respective beverages getting cold, Apollo grasps Perseus' hand and tells him that his eyes are the colour of the abyss of the sea, the depths of the ocean that even he is not allowed to touch.
Perseus cups Apollo's cheek in a tender way that that hasn't been bestowed upon Apollon since he killed Python. He tells him Apollo's eyes are golden, much brighter than of the healing fleece and the imperial gold dagger strapped to the demigod's calf.
Apollon knows where his name came from. He knows the meaning of apollymi, to destroy, to erase. To purify. To renew after ruin.
Perseus knows where his name comes from. The hero who lived. He also knows perthein, the ravager, the destroyer. To lay something to waste.
They are both weapons. Arrows that are hidden in a quiver. Sword that lights even the darkest of tunnels. Their eyes are reflection— golden shadows of a cruel master of time and abyss of the untamed sea. Their eyes are hidden to everyone but each other.
Because Apollon, who has torn apart a living creature from skin and flesh for an insult to himself, who froze a town for an insult to his mother, loves Perseus, who has survived tartarus by finding out that he can force misery on Misery, a goddess that was the daughter of a primordial, who has killed enough monsters that his shadow alone is now akin to Thanatos.
