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It was just not his night. Though really, when is it ever for Zephyrus?
It started with being invited to a party by his frustrating brothers. Boreas in particular. Coming up to Zephyrus with his insufferable grin, saying he should “come to the party and find someone to get over his romance drama," Zephyrus hates him. Stealing the charismatic god of light right out from under him when Boreas knew that he liked him. The nerve.
Of course Zephyrus barely walks into the wine god's palace to go searching for his fellow winds, because really, who else is there? When the fluttering of too small wings pushes air around his shoulders. The suffocating presence of malicious delight alone would have alerted him to his former ‘savior’.
“What?” Zephyrus says through a deep exhale.
Eros floats in front of him, giggling lightly before making an animated frown across his pretty tan face. “Not happy to see me? I thought we were friends~”
“We made a deal to help each other. Are you that desperate for friends?” Zephyrus stated, stepping away from the love god and untucking his wings from his back in case he needed to make a quick getaway. Eros smiles, tilting his head to look at Zephyrus like he’s a pitiful dog, disturbing the curls around his shoulders. Zephyrus shifts his gaze away from his face, not wanting to linger.
"Oh, Zephyrus, and here I thought you’d be nicer to me." Eros peered at him with dark eyes, fluttering back into his personal space, unruffled. “Besides, I think we both know that I am not the desperate one here."
Zephyrus scoffs, trying not to flare his wings. He is not worth it, he thinks to himself. He straightens and tries to walk around Eros, who flits in front of him easily. Blocking his escape, Zephyrus narrows his eyes at him. Eros is definitely not his ally here, if his growing excitement is any clue. In fact, he is starting to smile so hard the smooth skin of his face looks like it's splitting from the enthusiasm. His facial expressions are always slipping into an exaggerated interpretation of emotions, perverting them; devoid of any sincerity.
It makes Zephyrus think back to the shallow sympathy Eros showed him when he had to come to him for assistance: the sweet words, gentle tone, but with a cold glint in his gaze. A familiar one. The reason why Zephyrus tries not to look at him.
“I was sent to give you a message." The innocence coating his voice would be more convincing if it weren't for his eager buzzing and Cheshire smile. “Remember your little crush? Well, he asked me to warn you against speaking to him."
“Really? He sent you." Zephyrus didn’t fight against his incredulousness, giving the love god a disdainful look. “I doubt it.”
Eros flutters close enough to brush invisible dirt off Zephyrus’s shoulder, eyes shifting from a dark blue to something lighter. Zephyrus looks off to the side of him.
“Well,” Eros said, bringing his face close enough for the wind god to see the constant subtle shifting of his appearance, “I'm not you.”
Zephyrus dissolves into wind to move deeper in the room and as far away from Eros as he can. A decision so wise surely even Athena would be proud, Zephyrus thought. Malicious laughter echoes behind him, sticking to him as he leaves.
It doesn't matter, Zephyrus thought. I wasn't going to speak with him anyway. Why would he, after what that god did? Taking the prince away from Zephyrus—having a dalliance with Boreas, of all gods—a shallow and vain deity who deserved none of his attention. He looks around wearily, not trying to find him, but keeping an eye out while sifting through the surprisingly packed room so he’s not taken off guard.
But then, why should Zephyrus be hiding? He did nothing wrong—and even if he did, there was nothing that petty, foolish God could do. He rematerialized, walking in the direction of cool air, trying not to seethe. Seeing the back of pale mottled wings of the North wind, Zephyrus releases the tension he built up while being accosted by Eros with a sigh, folding in his wings.
Zephyrus walks up to Boreas while he seems to be having a conversation; his brother turns to look at him, apprehensive of something—Oh. Zephyrus’s senses are assaulted by a deep crimson chiton draped elegantly against sun-kissed bronze skin, with sleek golden waves swept in front of his shoulders, the ends falling against the top of his waist. Trailing his stare back up to Apollo’s face—just to see his expression shutter closed, leaving cool indifference.
Apollo turned to the north wind with a smile, the decorative hairpiece holding up a chunk of his hair glinting. “I guess I'll see you around.”
The flirty expression on Boreas’s face when responding in kind, making an ugly emotion curl up in Zephyrus’s gut. He fixates on the God of light’s little flourish as he strides away from them—no acknowledgement of his presence. Boreas turns to walk in another direction and swats his arm to break his focus before also beckoning Zephyrus to follow. The West wind dissolved and decided not to follow him and instead trailed after the other god.
Apollo was just about to pour himself wine from the selection Dionysus set out for the guests when Zephyrus saw the lines of his shoulder blades stiffen, turning to see the wind god solidify on his left.
He huffs, redirecting his attention back to the wine. “I have no desire to talk to you.”
“Because you're still pretending this is my fault,” Zephyrus challenges, eyes narrowed.
“Ugh. Fine, yes,” Apollo idly pours wine into a cup, still not looking at Zephyrus. “Fly away now.” He waves a hand at the other god, shooing him.
Indignation boils up, and Zephyrus reaches out to grab his arm; he barely brushes warm skin before Apollo pulls himself sharply out of the god's reach, finally acknowledging him with restrained anger fracturing the face that Zephyrus once thought of as soft and enticing.
The wind god gets a sting of satisfaction at the sight.
He smirks at Apollo, “Still acting like an entitled godling? Hasn't that failed you enough?” Zephyrus tries to walk into the music god's space, but he matches him by stepping back. Zephyrus continues, “Haven't you learned your lesson this time?”
A sharp laugh escapes from Apollo. “No, I don't think so,” he says airily, giving a calculating look to the west wind, “and I don't think you have the grounds to make that judgement.”
“Why is that?” Zephyrus flares his feathered appendages. "Because you tried to make a fool out of me? Because the two of you were shameless and disrespectful, and you paid the price for it.”
Apollo's eyes flash gold, matching Zephyrus's affronted stance. “You killed him," his voice saturated with venom, but there was something else bubbling underneath it. “I was planning on dedicating my immortal life to Hyacinthus. All the energy I didn't burn on my domains, my responsibilities, the other Olympians—I would have applied to him.”
A watery, bitter laugh escapes him before he continues, “And you think that has anything to do with you?” Apollo takes in a shaky breath, eyes growing shiny and unfocused, voice cracking.
“When you flaunt your relationship for me— and other gods to see? and then you lie about my face?” Zephyrus scoffs, “it's difficult to believe otherwise.”
“So what you’re saying is that you stole his life from him and all who loved him because you were jealous?”
Apollo, fast enough to surprise Zephyrus, grabs the latter by the robes, glare locking into the wind god's, cold hatred freezing over misty eyes. Zephyrus catalogs this expression along with all the other recent ones to stoke his contempt.
"You're pathetic,” He spat.
Zephyrus responds by capturing his wrist and snarling back.
“I could have given him all the same, and more,” he said, nails digging into Apollo’s skin. “Had he chosen me in the first place, his chances of death wouldn't have been so high."
Zephyrus watches the other god's face, seeing narrowed eyes, facial muscles twitching, and jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white around the front of his robes. Like he desperately wants to do something to Zephyrus. He figures this is the last thing many unfortunate men who foolishly angered the goddess of the hunt had probably seen, and Zephyrus could finally see the family resemblance. But unlike his sister, Apollo can’t do anything to him.
“I should haunt you. Make you miserable for all eternity." Apollo says, smiling as friendly as a dog showing its teeth. “An activity to transfer all this homeless energy to."
He steps closer, the cords of his arm flexing under Zephyrus’s grip, tipping his head to the side in mock innocence, a wild glint to his eyes, “into ruining you.”
He laughs, disdain poisoning the sound Zephyrus once compared to birdsong, which only deepens the pit of loathing already present in the god.
Apollo leans forward, breath ghosting Zephyrus’s face. He tries to keep himself from doing something stupid, as the smell of forest and honey invades his senses, and Zephyrus can't stop his gaze from sliding down—away from the warped beauty of his expression—to the smooth skin of his neck down to study a light dusting of freckles across his collar bones.
A scoff snaps Zephyrus’s attention back up to see the disgusted sneer on Apollo’s face when he shoves the wind god away harshly.
"Isn't that what you wanted? My attention?” Still sneering, he lets out a grating laugh. "Well, you got it now, love; now and forever. I hope it lives up to your expectations."
The wind god bristles before responding with actually deserved anger.
"You've already dismantled my expectations of you, not that I had many to begin with. Just another one of my brother's lovers of the century." Seeing Apollo's sharp grin and his readiness to respond, Zephyrus adds before he can get talked over by this brash god, “I'm sure Hyacinthus would have seen through your lies of self-respect and manageability. Had he survived you."
Apollo winced back, facade fracturing as his face turned into a vulnerable pool of sorrow; Zephyrus swears the god of light visibly dimmed and just stopped himself from wilting like a dying flower.
It only lasted a second though, before his face froze over again, ice burrowing deep in his eyes as he regained his poise. He studied him with cold fury, his eyes shifted color, deepening into a dark gray-blue, like the sky before a storm.
“Do you need me to explain to you?” Apollo mocks, twisting his loose curls furiously around his fingers, "How I would not have done that, had you not set his fate into motion with a gust of wind?”
“You threw the—!" Zephyrus barely started to counter, only to be drowned out by cruel laughter.
"Gods, you are even more of a delusional, pathetic idiot than I thought you were!"
Apollo encroaches on Zephyrus’s personal space again. Zephyrus felt his ichor in his veins start to pump faster. His wings opened wide, with his fists squeezed tight, a torrent of emotions bubbling under his skin.
He opens his mouth— only to get cut off by Apollo again.
"And you really think somebody's going to love you, in spite of all your flaws? You think you deserve any affection or admiration when all you do is fail—!”
The anguish cracking his voice does nothing to stop Zephyrus from snapping. Admittedly, sending a vase flying narrowly past Apollo's shoulder with a gust of wind wasn't his wisest decision, but it did shut the god of pointless noise up, forcing him to retreat instinctively with wide eyes. And when the object hit the wall— Apollo flinched. Both curling in on himself and almost stumbling away. Zephyrus wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it himself.
Much more effective than he thought it would be.
And he couldn't help the triumph at seeing the music god try to pretend he wasn't frightened by something so insignificant. Apollo swept his hands down the shining length of his hair, now free of the pin holding it stylishly up. The movement almost distracts Zephyrus from the subtle tremble to his hands. Almost.
And just when Zephyrus is ready to turn to leave the confrontation now that the obnoxious deity is finally speechless—
“You missed." Apollo says, sweeping his glossy waves in front of his shoulders with a hateful smirk. “Did Eros teach you how to aim too?”
It takes all Zephyrus has to restrain himself from throwing another object at him. And he would have the right to do so, because who does he think he is? He looks everywhere but the god of light, still shaking with rage.
“You have no right,” Zephyrus cuts his hand through the air, wings spread wildly. “I have done more than any of my brothers—You would have been lucky to—"
“Lucky? Ha! I'd rather invite Python to bite me—!" Apollo pulls at the gold strands wrapped in his fist, baring teeth in a grin.
Zephyrus surges forward, furiously gesturing towards the other god. "—Privilege you don’t deserve! you condescending dog—”
Apollo pulls back, eyes widening a fraction and smile straining more in effort to stay on, tension holding all his movements hostage; still, he barks out, “—be struck down! Hades, I’d rather di—!"
“What is all this?!” A purple cloud of glitter explodes between them, forcing space between them. Dionysus’s sour expression is revealed from the smoke.
Both gods look varying degrees of awkward and ashamed, with Zephyrus snapping his wings back to his body while shuffling his feet and avoiding the wine god’s intense (and beautiful) glare, like anybody with common sense would. So Apollo, of course, can’t let anyone think anything about him is common.
“I told you he couldn't put his feelings aside,” Apollo says, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his chiton.
"Not like you then,” Dionysius responds dryly, his disappointed expression framed by heavy, dark curls. Apollo pouts at him, fidgeting with the ends of his hair.
“Dio, come on now,” Apollo whines, putting a hand over his heart (well, where it would be), “you know I would never purposely spoil your celebrations.”
Dionysius turned back to the west wind without acknowledging that Apollo spoke at all (Zephyrus admires that about him). Looking him up and down with the same disgust one would aim at a bug swimming in their wine.
Every deity in their vicinity is watching them with blatant enjoyment, and Zephyrus sees Apollo noticing this as well. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt to defend himself, the wind god thinks, but is thankfully cut off by Dionysius’s low drawl.
“You’re both dismissed from my palace." He starts to walk away from them, flipping his curls. “See yourself out or I will.”
Laughter and jeering breaks out causing Zephyrus’s face to burn with embarrassment. He quickly evaporates into air, and flees into the courtyard. Unfortunately this did nothing to save him, as dozens of other deities did the same, still giving their commentary.
“I can’t believe they fought at Dionysius’s party—”
“—in front of the good wine too—”
“Behaving like mortals in the worst way possible, instead of a fun way—”
“— yeah it wasn’t even a real fight.”
“—I'm not surprised, it’s exactly what one of the god king’s entitled brats would do—”
“—I’d pay a pretty drachma to them really fight it out—”
“—Who does that wind god think he is?”
It got so crowded Zephyrus was forced to stay at ground level. He wasn’t the only one, as he spotted Boreas landing near the exit of the palace—even dissolving his wings to make more space. Against better judgment, Zephyrus re-materializes under the assumption that the north wind is looking for him in order to leave.
He was wrong.
No, Boreas’s gaze was actually searching for the god trying to push past several gods, particularly one that was fluttering around him. Apollo… Oh, and now he’s seen Zephyrus looking at him. Anger washes away all other emotion on his face, and the wind god is ready for him to start something again.
He watches with trepidation as Apollo roughly pushes gods out of his way back towards the entrance… wait, he’s not going to—
Boreas appeared to say something just before Apollo pulled him in by his himation for an aggressive kiss.
The gods surrounding them get quiet; Zephyrus is slack-jawed.
Boreas seems to get over his apparent shock and encircles Apollo's body with his arms, kissing back properly now.
Everyone stares. Somebody whistles at them.
Apollo walks himself back into the wall behind them, keeping zero space between him and Boreas. He digs his fingers into the skin of the north wind’s shoulder blade. Which looks unpleasant if you ask Zephyrus… definitely.
A hand reaches out from Zephyrus’s periphery to knock up his chin, closing his mouth with the clack of his teeth.
He whips his head around to glare at the perpetrator. Eros grins at him, amused. Zephyrus stares, trying to comprehend…anything that has happened. Eros, meanwhile, continues to watch the two gods making out on Dionysus's porch. The love god whistles lowly at them, giving the west wind a smirk and a waggle of his eyebrows.
Zephyrus looks back at the horror show as more whistling echoes across the courtyard. The music god’s other hand is now tangled in his brother’s hair as he kisses Apollo’s neck. His neck. In front of everyone.
And he’s looking straight at Zephyrus.
Self-satisfied.
Zephyrus, fuming, spreads his wings, forcing space for them among the deities surrounding him, emphasizing his every movement for flying out of this punishment designed specifically for him.
I can’t believe I thought I could enjoy this night, Zephyrus seethed as the winds carried him out of there.
Nothing ever goes well for him.