Page 4 of Midnight Pleasure

Despite himself, Ares chuckled briefly before grimacing in pain. "Please, don't make me laugh. It hurts too much."

"Sorry," Apollo expressed, the mischievous glint still in his eye.

"What were you doing out here, though? This place isn't on any route."

"Long story," Ares said, unable to look Apollo in the eye. "Let's just say I needed to get away for a bit."

Intrigued, Apollo decided not to press the matter. "Well, you came to the right place for that. There's nothing here but trees, rocks, and the odd bear."

"Bears?" Ares's eyes widened slightly, and Apollo couldn't help but snicker at his reaction.

"Don't worry about it. They're more afraid of you than you are of them. Besides, I made some soup. Figured you could use something warm after your ordeal."

"Soup?" Ares asked, his interest rising despite his discomfort.

"Avgolemono," Apollo said as he walked to the small kitchen and ladled some into a bowl. "It's a Greek chicken soup with lemon and egg. My mother used to make it on nights like this. It's good for the soul, or so she said."

He watched as Apollo carried the steaming bowl over, its comforting, citrusy scent filling the room. "I can't remember the last time someone actually made me soup," Ares added then, a touch of surprise in his voice. "Usually, it's takeout or some overpriced restaurant."

It struck into his chest like a spear, making him suddenly awkward as he passed the bowl to Ares. Words said of his mother—not really thought of at the time—but how lightly they lay by the balance of those words, the ones that weighed him down. He rarely spoke of her. She had been gone for years now, and in the silence, he had learned to bear the weight of grief. The weight of her absence nestled within his heart, a constant companion devoid of warmth, a silent burden.

Ares cupped the bowl, prize-like, cupping it in both hands. He took a careful sip, his eyes widening slightly as the rich, tangy flavour hit his taste buds. "This is… superb." Spoon half in his mouth, Ares shot a look up at Apollo. "Used to," he huffed, catching the unspoken meaning. "I'm sorry… about your mom."

Apollo's jaw tightened a fraction. He wasn't used to people noticing, much less giving a damn. Most folks in Foggy Basin knew better than to ask him questions. But here was this stranger picking up on the smallest hint. "It was a long time ago," Apollo acknowledged, his voice rougher than intended. "But thank you."

There was a moment of awkward silence, just the crackling of the fire and the soft clink of the spoon as Ares dipped it into the bowl. Ares's eyes never strayed from his, like reading something more beneath his skin, and Apollo really wasn't sure he was ready if he was ready to be this open. Still waiting.

Much to his surprise, Ares didn't press the point. Instead, he took a slow, careful sip of the soup; his expression changed as the warmth flooded him. "She had good taste," he added at last, his tone light as if trying to lighten the tension. "This is amazing."

Apollo eased up a fraction at the news. Ares wasn't a pitying guy; his expression was just… real. "She knew her way around a kitchen," he agreed, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, bittersweet in the dim light. "She'd probably laugh if she knew how much I still relied on her recipes."

"Well, I would say she taught you well," Ares returned, giving him a smile of his own. "You may have just spoiled takeout for me."

Apollo laughed softly through his nose, the tension lifting back into the present.

"Well, I'm afraid you won't find any of that around here," Apollo returned, face still smirking. "But this should do the trick."

"It has, it has," Ares hummed as he took more spoonful of the hearty soup. Once weary and worn, his face now radiated with a newfound glow. The lines of fatigue and worry faded, replaced by a softness from pure contentment. Ares' eyes sparkled with gratitude, reflecting the genuine joy he felt deep within.

Apollo couldn't help but respond with a hint of pride in his expression. "Told you. It's what sticks with you."

"Thanks," he exhaled, his gaze meeting Apollo's. Ares took another sip, allowing the warmth of the soup to envelop him. "For everything."

"Don't mention it, and don't worry about anything else. Just focus on getting better," he stated, his words filled with reassurance.

Ares nodded, though, for the briefest moment, something of an unreadable look passed over his features. "You know what? You're not what I expected."

"Oh, yeah?" Apollo's brow quirked with interest. "And what did you expect?"

"Honestly? Some grumpy old mountain man who'd just leave me out in the cold," Ares said with a small smile.

"What do you mean, old?" he laughed, feigning hurt. "You are lucky you found my old grumpy ass. Besides, I won't lie—I was tempted to leave you and your rich ass out there."

"Lucky me, gramps," Ares muttered, reaching again for the soup. The temperature of the food matched the warmth that spread between them, invisible yet so easy to see—undeniable and all-encompassing.

Chapter 3: Rough Beginnings

Ares awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, his head thick with the remnants of a fever dream. His whole body ached deeply, as if someone had hollowed him out and left him to dry in the sun. As he tried to shift, a sharp pang in his muscles made him groan, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the dull throbbing in his temples.

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