Hyacinthus

by Isabelle Knops

Hyacinthus felt the promise in Apollo's rays when they kissed his leaves, as they burst from their confinement one by one. It was his lover's way of saying that they would be reunited once more, and telling him to be patient. 

Patience.

The irony wasn't lost on him; his beloved Apollo had never been good at practicing patience when it came to the matters of the flesh, his impulses often consuming reason. Yet, when Hyacinthus had still been human, Apollo had always been there for him, sweet and amorous, unlike the god that had been described to him. Even after his transformation into a flower, he continued to visit. Hyacinthus felt electric at the thought of seeing him once more; to doze accompanied by the sweet melody of his lyre, instead of the cold rhythm of the earth that housed and isolated him. 

Still he fretted.

Please stay, was all Hyacinthus could think, as Apollo's warmth started to dwindle. 

The centuries had made him fluent in reading Apollo's behaviour, and while the warmth of his rays were a sign of affection and comfort, a complete drop in temperature told him that Apollo had left. Apollo's love had never been of a fleeting nature when it concerned Hyacinthus, but he had little to offer in conversation or looks until he had fully blossomed to wholly recapture his love's attention. In earlier years Hyacinthus had been sporadically left to fend for himself for days on end, until his first petal flowered. Only then Apollo would stay for good. But, there had been that one year, when Apollo had been distracted for too long, and Hyacinthus had frozen before his buds even had the chance to sprout.    

✿

Don't leave me. 

Hyacinthus didn't know if it was an act of love or luck, but the cold spans became shorter and he grew at a steady pace. As his buds developed, everyday sounds started to reach him, hushed at first until he finally heard the comforting lilt of Apollo's voice, “You can't stay for much longer.”

A high pitched giggle was the response, and a feeling of dread replaced the calm that had existed in Hyacinthus up until that point. He realized it had been neither love nor luck, but lust that had kept Apollo. 

“I'm being serious,” sounded the steady answer of Apollo. “You have to go.”

“But why?”

✿

Apollo considered the question and took a moment to really look at his companion for the first time. A sweet natured dryad—a vision of soft curves, lips, and curls. It hadn't come as a surprise when he hadn't been the only god drawn to her. 

“Why?” She repeated when her question went unanswered. “You won me fairly. And I have nowhere else to be…” She droned on, hands reaching for his. 

It had been her eyes that had captivated him, had driven him to fight for her and beat his own brother Ares. They were the same shade of purple as Hyacinthus' petals—how he longed to hold them between his fingers.

His eyes drifted to the buds that would soon carry all that was left of his Hyacinthus, a love that had ended abruptly without his doing. In that moment he regretted his impulse to bring the dryad—he couldn't remember her name—to their spot. 

✿

My love—why? 

Hyacinthus remembered the last day of spring they had spent together. The sound of Apollo's cries; the weight of his tears as they landed on his bronzed petals, pressing down until they tore from his stalk. The apologies that followed, the promise to help him outlive the short three weeks they had spent together, next year. 

Had they meant nothing to him? They had meant everything
to him.

Hyacinthus silenced the sounds of the world that awaited him, allowing his mind to rest and prepare himself for a reunion he wasn't sure he was ready for.

✿

Apollo sat on a tree stump next to Hyacinthus, alone, his silence had driven the dryad to seek the company of a passing satyr. He hadn't moved in days—Hyacinthus was late. His petals were blossoming, but his voice wasn't forthcoming.

“Where are you my darling?”

His question was met with silence. 

“Please, don't do this to me… Hyacinthus, I beg you. Don't leave me.”

“Finally.” Hyacinthus had longed to hear Apollo utter these words for years.

“Hyacinthus!” Apollo dropped to his knees in front of the trembling flower. “My love, you had me worried. I thought—I feared that you had decided not to return this year. I did not mean to burn you so badly last year! Please forgive me.”

Hyacinthus had considered it. But even in his heartbroken stupor he wasn't that cruel, it was not in his nature.

“I will take breaks this year, I promise! I'll sit over near the orange tree—no, I'll move the orange tree so you may rest near it. I'll stand somewhere else, far from here, but not too far, so it may provide you with shade… And…”

“Stop.”

“I'll do whatever it takes—please.” Apollo continued, not hearing what Hyacinthus had said.

“Please stop! That's not why I waited.” Hyacinthus continued when Apollo fell silent. “Yes, it was devastating having had such little time, but I didn't mind. I got to spend time with you—that's all I ever want. For us to be together.”

“Then why did you make me wait? Why didn't you speak up?”

“Because it hurt.”

“What did?”

“Hearing you speak to a lover right next to me.”

Silence and then a soft, “You heard.” Apollo didn't offer an excuse. There were none he could give.

“Of course I did, I was already close to blossoming.”

“I hadn't noticed.”

“You rarely do.”

“What can I do to make this up to you?”

“Promise me that when spring comes around again, it is only me you'll have eyes for.”

“I promise.”

The words were uttered with such conviction that Hyacinthus wanted to believe them. He may get upset with Apollo, but his love never wavered. It wasn't easy to be in love with a god, never mind being loved by a god.

“I will be there, patiently waiting from the moment you break through the earth.”

❀✿❀

Isabelle Knops (she/her) is a trilingual author based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She is the author of “Icarus and Asterion” and “Displacement”, both featured in Ekklesia; “The making of the Dioscuri Twins” published in Agora; “Thetis Reborn” published by The Orpheum Collective; and “Harpies” published in Glyph. While Isabelle is of the opinion that a pen is the most powerful weapon a human can wield, she can regularly be found on piste fencing.