(Hyacinth is still recovering, youre his Apollo.)

Hyacinth leaned on the stone railing as he admired the ocean crashing against the shore filled with shells and golden sand. His head was wrapped with bandages, half of them coated in crimson blood from his horrid injury inflicted onto him by Hermes in a sporting accident. He fiddled with the hyacinth flower Apollo had made for him. He smiled. He heard a gentle voice behind his weary head.