Page 5 of Midnight Pleasure

“Finally decided to join the people walking about?” The voice nearby drawled. It was deep, rough around the edges, and annoyingly familiar.

Ares’s eyes snapped open, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on the figure leaning against the doorframe.

Damn. There he was. Apollo stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a dish towel slung over one shoulder like a domestic sentinel. His gaze was excellent, but something else was underneath it—something rather alarmingly like concern.

“What happened?” He rasped, his voice only a hoarse croak. He swallowed against the nauseating taste of stale air and medicine.

“You’ve been out of it for about ten days,” Apollo answered, pushing away from the doorframe to take a step closer. “Pneumonia. Walloped you hard, too. Though, for a while there, I thought you might not make it. It was touch and go.”

Ares’s heart had skipped a beat, but not in fear; no, it was something purer, something closer to annoyance. Ten days? How had he lost ten days? And how had he relied on Apollo—that gruff, irritating sculptor—to care for him?

“Great,” Ares sputtered, trying to sit up. His body seemed to have other ideas. The world tilted alarmingly, and he fell back onto the pillows again, breathing shallow. “Just great. Did you call for any help? Are you even a doctor? Fuck and fuck!” His voice trembled with a mixture of anger and confusion as he struggled to find the right words to express his overwhelming emotions.

As Apollo snorted, a subtle twitch of his lips followed, betraying the hint of a mischievous smile. He then said, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

For once, Ares aimed a glare that didn’t burn. “I didn’t ask for your help.” In that moment, he failed to recognize the irony of his actions. Unaware that the person he was lashing out at was the very one who had selflessly saved his life.

“No, you didn’t,” Apollo agreed, his tone infuriatingly calm. “But someone had to keep you from kicking the bucket. You’re not exactly in a position to be picky about who saves you.”

“I’m grateful,” he confessed.

Despite his efforts to project gratitude, his voice betrayed the vulnerability that lurked beneath his tough exterior. It quivered slightly, lacking the force he had hoped to convey. Ares realized that his response had not matched his intentions, leaving him frustrated and even more defensive.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Apollo replied, arching an eyebrow.

Ares teeth ground together at a retort that balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. He did not have the strength or clarity to enter another battle of words. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Every breath was a fight, strained against the feeling of constriction in his chest.

After a few seconds of complete silence, Apollo spoke again, but this time in a softer voice. “Look, I know this isn’t what you want. But you’re here, and you need to get better. That’s pretty much it.”

Ares opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. The truth of Apollo’s words settled over him like a heavy blanket. He hated this—hated being helpless, hated depending on someone who clearly thought the worst of him. Like they all did. But what choice did he have? His old life was gone, ripped away by his father’s twisted last wishes. All he had now was… this. Whatever ‘this’ was.

“Fine,” as Apollo’s words lingered in the air, Ares fought to regain control over his emotions. He straightened his posture, attempting to reclaim his composure. A defiant glint flashed in his eyes, a silent promise that he would let no one define him.

“But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Apollo remarked, his tone was sly and cutting with a bit gracious undertones.

Frustration and fatigue filled the following days. Ares fought to eke out some strength, but each step he took brought it back into perspective. The fever had laid him low, and the pneumonia didn’t help, so everything from eating to getting clean clothes on seemed gigantic. He hated being weak and reliant on Apollo for everything, from food to clean clothes.

Apollo was a constant thorn in his side. The man seemed to have a knack for getting under Ares’s skin with every sarcastic remark and infuriating smirk. The easygoing silence and unwavering composure Apollo radiated only intensified his inner turmoil. However, amidst the prickly atmosphere, there was an undercurrent of intimacy between them that unsettled him further.

Things finally reached a head that morning when Ares tried to get out of bed without help. He made it so far as getting his legs over the side, and he was halfway to his feet before his knees gave way.

Apollo was there before he could even work up the humiliation, yanking him back to his feet with an ease that only did more for Ares’s resentment. Frustration grew within him, a simmering heat that spread through his veins. The tension in the room was palpable, like a tightly wound coil ready to spring.

“What in the hell were you thinking?” Apollo demanded, anger flashing in his eyes.

Ares could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his anger fueling the burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. The words had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, a testament to his wounded pride.

“I was thinking I didn’t need your damn help,” Ares shot back, his pride stinging as much as his knees. He tried to pull away, but Apollo’s grip was firm, keeping him upright whether he liked it.

“You’re barely strong enough to stand, let alone walk alone,” Apollo growled. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“Because I don’t want to be here!” Ares’s voice cracked, the admission tearing out of him before he could stop it like a deep wound finally ripped open, raw and bleeding. It was as if he pulled something vital inside himself—that words could leave one with such a stinging ache in the chest as if it wouldn’t heal quickly. It was precisely that kind of pain, the sort that lingered, sharp and unrelenting, like salt rubbed into an already festering wound, that hollowed him out as he gasped for breath.

His vision blurred, tears threatening to spill over, but he fought them back with a fierce determination. “I don’t want to be stuck in this… this nowhere town, living off your charity, playing along with whatever pity project you’ve decided I am!” The pain etched on his face, eternally etched into his soul, was a reflection of the torment he carried within.

Apollo’s expression softened a fraction, but his voice remained firm. “You think I’m doing this out of pity?”

---