Work Text:
He isn’t one for festivals.
Truly, he isn’t one for much at all, but Persephone had wanted to go, and...that’s how it always is, isn’t it? It’s a wonder she isn’t terribly bored of him. He can’t help but be curious as to what exactly she sees in him every time she looks at him and her soul glistens with a happiness that makes his sing.
But that is not the point tonight. Persephone had been asked to help Freyja with a light show, while the other woman busied herself with preparing the music. With the festivities in full swing, it was little wonder Persephone would want to show him what she had been working on.
Even though he’s not one for festivals. He wants to humour her.
His grip upon her hand is firm as she leads him through the sea of people. Were he a lesser man, he might be concerned he would lose her. But she always shines brightest to him no matter the throng they find themselves in; he merely grits his teeth and bears with it. Eventually, they’re able to push through into an open area, the other onlookers making a small circle as they watch various couples dance in the centre, their robes billowing out around them.
The music is — nice , he allows. Freyja had certainly spared no amount of finesse in the artistry of the notes, the instruments he can’t quite name but recognises the sound of. But his favourite part is the lights that ebb and flow like an aurora above all else, the colours reminding him so of Persephone’s letters. Perhaps it is merely the same principle — but even so, it is a beauty to behold.
The colours dance around the dancers, weaving and melting and fading out, mystical shapes giving the scene an ethereal flavour. He wonders how this must look to someone who cannot even see the souls of those twirling in the bliss.
Her hand is soft and warm in his. She doesn’t speak, or even touch at their bond, but he can tell she’s curious . It shows in the tilt of her head and the mild tenseness of her shoulders, the way she leans to watch the dancers as they twist and twirl past them.
Persephone wants to dance, though she would not ask him. She’s already asked enough of him by requesting that he come — in her opinion.
He sighs slightly, mouth twisting as he wonders how to ask. They haven’t danced in public before —
Only in their room, alone, without eyes on them, to no music except the way they had felt like moving.
The melody slows, several dancers leave the ring, and before he can think better of it, Hades twists to stand in front of Persephone, his back to the inside of the man made ring, still holding her hand in his.
“Shall we dance?” he asks aloud, brushing his thumb along her knuckles gently. He would have kissed the back of her hand were such public displays of affection not frowned upon. But they do not need to be overt for all to know who either belongs to.
Persephone’s green eyes widen in wonder, her fingers trembling slightly uncertainly against his palm. But her other hand lifts to take his, and with a mild smirk, he pulls her amongst the others. The song is easy and calming. If the other dancers have a set rhythm or step, it is difficult to say. Hades for one does not care what they do so long as he can look Persephone in the eye, and she has eyes for none other than him.
Why had he been so hesitant about doing this? They move so easily and naturally around each other as water. If there were others around him, he could hardly begin to recount who they were or what they were doing. There is not a thing that matters — not their brief trepidation of the festival itself, nor their concerns of what anyone else might think.
When he pulls her close into an impulsive dip and she smiles up at him, fingers gently trailing along his cheekbone beneath his mask, he all but forgets where they are at all. It takes all his willpower to not simply kiss her.
They hardly notice when the song ends and the next begins.