Page 13 of Midnight Pleasure

Finally, he opened his lips and just about whispered back, "I don't know how to let go."

"You don't have to do it all at once," Apollo replied, softening his voice. "Start small. Take it one at a time. You will get there.".

Ares nodded, unconvinced. Sure, he had believed it, but there was something in Apollo's words, in the way he said them with that quiet certainty, which had him wanting to try, believing maybe, just maybe, there really was some way out of his father's smothering hold on everything he did.

Having stood together, the weight of the unsaid conflict between the two men lightened and was replaced by silence. This silence spoke enough about the difficult struggles and sacrifices in their journeys.

Ares's gaze fell to the sculpture, his eyes following its lines until they reached where Apollo's had stopped. It was raw wood and unpolished, yet it held the promise of beauty in it.

"Why do you do it?" Ares asked, his voice soft. "Why do you put so much into something that seems so…fragile?"

Apollo followed his gaze to the sculpture, his brow furrowed. "It's worth it," he said after a moment. “It reminds me that even the roughest, most unyielding material can be shaped into something beautiful if you're willing to put in the time and effort.”

Ares nodded; he knew very well what lay beneath the words. That wasn't about the wood; it was about his way that hadn't ended yet, he knew. Yet, for the first time, he felt he wasn't alone—the feeling that he had a friend who understood him and would help him find his way.

The tension between them now developed into something deeper, more personal. In that one moment, standing there, side by side, he just knew it was the beginning. There was so much to learn about each other and themselves still. But they had time. They had each other. That may be enough.

Chapter 6: Sweet Temptations

Apollo was in the kitchen, his hands moving rhythmically while kneading the dough. The familiar movements soothed him, a comfort he had known for a long time. The air was warm and perfumed with the intense aromas of the cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg, their sweet scents mingling with the soft crackle of the fire from the stove. It was late, and the world outside was still silent; it was just the two of them in this tiny, intimate space.

Silently, Ares moved to his side. He seemed quieter than usual, with much of his sharp edge replaced by something more subdued. However, his stance still conveyed tension, as he maintained a rigid and poised posture, as though prepared to run at any moment.

Apollo joked, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Do you want to help or keep standing there looking pretty?”

Ares looked at him, his mouth twitching at the corner, fighting the urge to smile. “I don’t do pretty,” he said, with a hint of amusement.

He chuckled, his laughter low and rich, as the easy banter brought a welcome shift in the atmosphere.

Rolling his eyes, Ares couldn’t resist his curiosity and stepped closer. “Alright, what’s next?”

“Grab that bowl of honey,” Apollo instructed, nodding toward the counter. “We’re making melomakarona, a traditional Greek dessert. It’s all about balance. Sweet, but not too sweet. Rich, but not too heavy. You’ll like it.”

Ares carefully set the bowl down onto the table, the scent of Greek spices filling the air between them. As their fingers touched, a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity ran through Apollo, unexpected yet undeniable temptation. Ares pulled back quickly, creating a small but noticeable distance between them, though not before a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, catching Apollo off guard.

“Did your mom teach you to make this?” Ares asked, his tone light but curious.

Apollo’s smile eased, the playful tension giving way to something more tender as memories washed over him. “My nana used to make these, every holiday,” he began, gentle with nostalgia. “She taught me how to bake, and Mom taught me how to cook. They just held our culture close, and you could feel it in the way they moved in a kitchen. Some of my favorite memories are the three of us in there, music blaring, laughter bouncing off the walls. It was always alive with warmth and love in the kitchen.”

Freshly baked goods wafted in through the room, and Apollo was hit by a symphony of nostalgia and comfort. His senses were on high alert, his mouth watered, and he could taste a glistening sweetness in the air. The odor wrapped itself around his person like a tapestry of memories tugging at the heartstrings.

Apollo closed his eyes, letting thoughts wash over him, carrying him further and further back in time, to a world bright and trouble infinite in distance. Warmth settled in his chest, seeping through to each of his fingertips with light tingling. It was as if every single nerve within his body had woken to life at that scent, so meaningful to him.

“Sounds… nice.” Ares’s response was short and curt, surprising Apollo. He thought they had made some strides in trust and dialogue, but Ares’s stony mask of indifference was back on.

“Have you ever baked before?” He asked, keeping his voice light as he reached for a mixing spoon.

Ares shook his head. “No. That was never… my thing.”

Apollo pressed a little, half-jokingly, questioning, “Let me guess: your thing was more about looking good at charity galas and making your father proud, right?”

Ares stiffened at his poke, the tension snapping further into place. “Something like that.”

He kept his tone light, almost teasing, but with a thread of seriousness woven in. “You know, you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations here. In this kitchen, you’re just you. No titles, no pressures.”

“And what if I don’t know who that is?” Ares asked, his voice now laced with a weight it hadn’t held earlier.

“Then we’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

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