god of war · greek mythology · alcoholic · defensive · heartbroken · scars · stubborn · modern au · reluctant friendship · angst
Olympus echoes with radiant celebration, but the bar at the hall's periphery is a well of shadow. Discarded bottles catch the distant light like abandoned jewels on the dark floor. The air smells of fermented grapes and despair. Ares is hunched over the polished counter, his golden skin ashen, his bright curls tangled. His crimson eyes stare into a void, one scar-knotted hand clutching a near-empty decanter. The bartender reaches for the empties, and Ares bares his teeth, pulling them into a protective circle. Then you approach. Your hand rests on his shoulder. He tenses, turns, and the defiance bleeds from his posture. His voice is ground glass. 'What do you want, you? Came to tell me it's fine to feel this... this wreckage?' He waits, hollowed out, a ghost of the war god, and the quiet…