Icarus hadn't seen much of his father in the few days since he'd banished him to his workshop upstairs.

He had most certainly heard him, through crashing and banging and hammering and tinkering, but he hadn't actually seen much of him. He had purposefully made himself scarce since Icarus' outburst, likely because Icarus had managed to create a feeling of guilt within him, that he'd endangered his son's life, potentially for nothing.

However, Icarus now seemed to carry a feeling of guilt as well. He'd begun to think that maybe his father had made a innocent mistake, that he truly was only trying to find a way for them to escape. If that was the case, then he really was only trying his best for Icarus, he wanted to save him from an inevitable fate.

"You should talk to your father." Apollo told him, as they stood ankle-deep in the midnight ocean. "He feels awful for what he's done, and I know you feel awful about what you said to him too."

Icarus sighed, watching the water run around his ankles. "I know I should talk to him, but I don't know if I'm ready to." He sighed. "I don't know if I'm ready to admit that I was wrong."

"I don't have a good relationship with my father." Apollo began, before taking Icarus' hand. "I don't know how happy he'll be that you this but the great mighty Zeus, king of the gods, is a shit father. He doesn't much care for his children, his family as a whole, nor the lovers he leaves behind; I've always wanted and wished for a father that cared more for me than Zeus ever did or has." He looked to their reflection in the water. "You father is the sort of father I wish I had. He cares for you and he's trying his best, and I don't want you to loose that. Obviously I can't force you to talk to him, I just hope that you will because you have a father who loves you, and I'd hate for you to loose that."

Icarus turned to look Apollo in the eye.

He'd never studied the colour of Apollo's eyes before, but looking so deeply into them now he could see that they were sea green; a deep blue mingling into enveloping, rich green towards the pupil. When the light of moon caught them just right, they seemed to glimmer like the jewels he was adorned in the night they first met. They were soft, warm and welcoming; they were place he wanted to be, they were the home he always wanted, they belonged to the man he was willing to spend his forever with, however long that was.

"I'm sorry." Icarus said quietly, resting his head on Apollo's chest.

Apollo almost laughed. "What are you saying sorry for?"

"I didn't know Zeus was so...frivolous. I feel bad that you didn't have a loving family."

"Oh, I have a loving family. My mother and Artemis are wonderful, I just don't have a loving father." He explained. "Zeus isn't the sort of person you want your children to look up to, I never did. I always liked Hades more, he was kind, a good parent and good husband. I've never seen much of him, but I always relish in the time we spend together."

"You like Hades the most?" Icarus questioned. "Most mortals are afraid of even saying his name."

"Mortals are scared of Hades because they are scared of death, they're scared of the eternal end. Hades is the kindest, most forgiving and open-armed god there is because his job is to see mortals at their worst, to judge them when they have lost everything. He isn't soft make no mistake, he can be unforgiving when he wishes to be, but he is reasonable. If you are to be afraid of anyone, be afraid of Persephone; she took to her role as the Queen of the Underworld better than anyone thought."

Icarus smiled. "I'll talk to my father tomorrow. Maybe I was unreasonable, maybe I was wrong."

Apollo nodded and softly ran his fingers across Icarus' knuckles. "Good." He replied.

"Good."

Icarus hesitated.

He was stood at the base of the stairs and looked up to the workroom, where his father was still slaving away and where he was still doing his best to keep out of Icarus' way.

Icarus hesitated, even when he found he courage to slowly ascend the stairs up. Icarus hesitated because he couldn't think of what he would say, even when he reached the top of the stairs and looked upon his father, bent double over a large wooden table.

Icarus had never seen the interior of his father's workshop. It sounds ludicrous that not even in a bored haze had he walked into his father's workshop and explored it, but it was true. He'd never even thought about it, not even in a bored haze had he poked around, because truth be told: he didn't care.

He didn't care much for his father's work, he didn't share his father's interest in art or architecture or whatever craft he is said to have mastered. Icarus had always been told that his father was a genius in his field, that he must've been blessed by the gods to have such talent, but Icarus saw his father's 'talent' as a curse because after all his talents are what trapped them both on Crete.

The workshop looked much like how Icarus had imagined it would, given the state of his father's side of the room they shared. It was a mess of papers, scrolls, miscellaneous materials, fabrics and tools that Icarus had never seen in his life. Up against the far wall were a few shelves, which his father neglected to use, clearly choosing to strew all of his things across the floor instead. In the middle of the room, as Icarus had first noticed, was a large, square, wooden table, also covered in things that Icarus failed to recognise the purpose of.

There was also a window, much like the one he liked to sit in on the floor below. It looked in the other direction though, towards mainland Greece, or more specifically the Peloponnese. His father long ago had told him that if they were to escape and if they were to fly toward land, they'd reach Laconia first, or one of the many small islands in between, and they'd make their way to Attica, where he was from. Icarus didn't understand why his father was so picky about where they ended up, Icarus would be happy anywhere other than Crete.

I bet the view is nice from up here, he thought.

"Icarus?" His father said, pulling him out of his thoughts with a sharp jolt. "Do you need something?"

"Hello father." Icarus replied awkwardly, as he fiddled with his fingers trying to think of something to say. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened the other day, and about what I said."

Daedalus hesitated, but then put down the tool he was holding and took a seat on the windowsill, before gesturing for Icarus to sit with him. "I wanted to talk about what happened the other day as well." He smiled. "We left things on a much more sour note than I like."

Icarus nodded and took a seat opposite his father.

They'd never spoken like this; like father and son. They'd never sat opposite each other and talked about their feelings and their problems, they'd never sat opposite each other and behaved like family, and right now it felt awkward to do so. Icarus didn't know where to look- he looked to his hands, to the floor and to the sky outside rather than look directly into his father's eyes.

His father's eyes seemed a lot less welcoming than Apollo's did. Apollo's eyes felt safe, they felt warm and homely; Icarus felt at peace when he looked into Apollo's eyes, but when he looked into his father's eyes, he felt distant. When Icarus looked into his father's eyes he felt so far away, he felt as if his father was out of reach; there was something that was prohibiting them from ever feeling like a normal family, and Icarus felt confident enough to name it.

Minos.

"I thought about what I said the other day, when I got angry at you." Icarus began, looking at the lapping waves on the distant shore. "I overreacted. I didn't think about why you did what you did, I didn't think that you did this for me. I thought that you were just being selfish, and now that I've had the chance to think about it, I realise that I was wrong." He sighed. "And I want to say I'm sorry."

Daedalus studied his son's face, much like Icarus had studied his moments before, and in him he saw some glimmer of hope; as if beneath all of his worry and his fears was a feeling of hopefulness, hope for something to change. Daedalus wasn't sure what brought this new sense of hope about, because if anything he expected his son to be more hopeless, but hope and happiness was a nice sight to see on Icarus' face, even if it was buried deep beneath his ever-present frown.

"It's okay, you have nothing to be sorry for." Daedalus replied, as he smiled genuinely at Icarus, for the first time in forever. "I understand why you were angry, you have every right to be. Your anger is justified, I didn't think about the consequences of what I was doing, and for that I'm sorry, even though there's nothing I can do about it now." He nodded. "I'm sorry."

Icarus looked away from the horizon, and finally to his father's face. Daedalus was looking at him intently, as if he was nervous about how he was going to react, and rightly so. Icarus was still angry, there was no denying that; his anger wasn't going to go away the moment that he apologised, but holding a grudge wasn't going to make anything better for anyone.

"I forgive you father." Icarus replied. "I think there's no need for you to apologise, but I forgive you."

Daedalus nodded. "I have a plan for how we'll escape. I need to test how well it works first, but should it work, we won't be here much longer Icarus. I promise you that."

"Be careful father. You've made a habit of making promises you can't keep, let us hope this isn't one of those many."