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Hello Neighbor.
Such an innocent, harmless phrase. But playful. The young Goddess bites her lip and drapes it over the glass. Staring right into the view of the opened window where she spies on him. He isn’t there, and she misses him terribly.
Is that possible? She wonders, to miss someone you haven’t met. Or, she should say, haven’t met proper. To meet under the pretense of night, under the skies and the moon, and to share a blistering kiss. Wrapped up in one another like bedsheets until the chime of footsteps separated them. It had been many months since then, but the more she sees him, the more she craves him.
Which is why she’s doing this, she supposed. To catch his attention, to claim him once more. Under the moon, under the stars, to steal kisses from him and make him groan. To have his large, calloused hands on her waist again. In whatever way she can get, she wants.
She isn’t sure where he went to, Hades was always so quiet when he moved. Just like the shadows he hides behind, just like the dark, he simply appeared and disappeared. She muses on having a sense for his presence if she could figure out where he was simply by the push and pull in her stomach. Whether she was next to him or not, to understand him, to predict him, to know him is what she wants.
But he does not come back, not even when the moon threatens to disappear too. Hades is once more Unseen.
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The sun gently warms her skin, filtering in through opened curtains and shining on her entire room. She’s sure the plants she’s potted around her are thrilled at getting to see the sun so early in the morning, but she? She is less than thrilled.
Staying up so late has truly messed with her sleep schedule. Persephone loved the morning, she loved rising and starting her day, she loved to watch the world rise along with her. But after so many late nights, she finds herself glued to her bed. She gets up all the same, but she mourns the loss of comfort from her plush mattress and pillows. There was no better place than bed, not even Elysium could compare.
With a woeful groan, she throws the blanket off of her and sits up. Stretching until she heard her bones pop and her arms shake, the Goddess stands up and twists her back too. Her shorts have ridden up on her thighs, not that she particularly minds, but it would be inappropriate to leave the house in such revealing clothing. Or so her mother says.
She grabs her pitcher and takes it into the bathroom, filling it up with water before returning to her spacious room. She starts with the ones by her bedside and then moves onto her windowsill. The splotch of brown alarms her as she passes by the glass pane, forgetting what she had done the night before, and she grabs it.
Hello Neighbor.
Ah, that’s right. She had left Hades a message. She has to laugh to herself, how silly was that? What were the chances he’d come back and see such a boring thing? Slim. She believes, slim to none. And it would be embarrassing to have the entire suite see her failed attempt at shooting her shot like that. Yes, she agrees with herself, this is better thrown in the trash then sitting here waiting to be found.
Oh- right, Hades. He had been shirtless last night. She smiles to herself, reflecting back to the workout she’d witnessed. How strong his back looked, how tight his abs were. She was happy she hadn’t missed the show. Is he aware that she can see him so many nights? Would he find it strange that she had been looking? Yes, she supposed that is a bit weird, maybe she shouldn’t tell him.
Her gaze shifts from her Dracaena to Hades’ window, she had to flounder for her pitcher as it nearly dropped from her hands to the floor.
Persephone sees a sign in the window.
Scrambling to sit atop her ledge, she holds her breath. She has to squint, the handwriting is cursive and thin- but beautiful. Was that calligraphy? No, it wasn’t bold enough to be. When had he done this? How had she not noticed? Did he wait for her to leave, or possibly, did he do it this morning before he left for the Underworld office.
Good Morning, scoundrel.
Her face burns, not only had he answered her back but he had addressed her spying. Or, the one he knew about. She looks around, trying to find her marker to write back to him. She wonders when he’ll see it, was he going to look for it whenever he got home? Her heart fluttered, was he thinking about her? Could he be excited to receive a response like she had?
She responds, Me? Never.
It isn’t much, it isn’t a confession to anything either, but it makes her nervous and overjoyed all the same. She’s not sure if he’ll be back within the afternoon or late into the night again, but she looks forward to checking whenever 5pm rolled around.
Until then, she had homework to do.
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Says the peeping Tom.
She can’t sleep, she’s finished her homework, practiced for the most recent sports team her mother decided she needed to be in, and made herself dinner. She cannot, for the life of her, settle down to go to bed. Maybe it’s because her mind is racing, full of perfect penmanship and scars and cardboard signs slapped into window sills. Persephone had taken a shower, then a bath when she paced all over her kitchen and worked herself into a sweat.
She can’t stop thinking about ruby eyes shining like crimson gems in the night, the way they flashed bright when he smiled drunk, the dimples in his cheeks as he cackled at her sudden exit.
She had checked the window so many times she’s burned a path into her carpet from constantly running over and jumping onto her ledge. It’s finally time, when the moon is high into the night sky, that she stumbles over on tired feet. On the hour she’s been checking, a lot could happen in an hour. She takes her sign back, flips it over to trace the letters in pink ink over.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Was it stupid that she had written that? She was trying to be flirty, but maybe he thought she was just being dumb. Or an ass, she really hoped not. She thought about ripping this one up and trying again, leaving him another message to respond to and hoping the new one would be worthy enough of his time.
She doesn’t really have the opportunity to ponder that one any further, because she feels obligated to look elsewhere. Persephone pushes her long hair behind her ears, glancing around her room. No cat in sight, and her plants can’t possibly be watching her. She then looks out her window expecting an owl, or butterfly, something, and not Hades.
He was standing there in his hallway, a white button up and blue slack pants. He was holding a briefcase bundled together by twine, and his eyes were fixated on her. She gasped, nervously sending him a smile and a small wave from where she stood. He looked tired. His shirt wrinkled, bunched, and if she squinted she was certain a button was missing.
Hades pulls a chair from somewhere behind him, he sits down and opens the case. He holds another sign and a marker and quickly scribbles onto it. He holds it up when he’s done, marker dancing in his hands as she reads over the pretty writing.
What may I call you?
Her face lights up, and quickly she’s scrambling around for a pen and paper. She can hear his deep chuckle from their space apart, its low and soft and it sends a shiver up her spine. She holds up a finger to him before she runs off. Ripping right into her mother’s office to steal a clipboard and a stack of paper. On her way back to her room, she takes her signature pink pen and throws herself on her ledge.
Persephone, and you?
Hades looked at her, the slight furrow of his brow and the disbelief making her laugh now. She giggles and gestures for him to write back, she can see his scoff from her room. He shakes his head, and writes his response.
I know you know who I am.
She’s quick to shoot back.
Come on, don’t be rude. Introduce yourself, your majesty.
He fights back a smile, she can tell because of the way he bites his lip and looks down. Is he aware of how attractive that is? How sharp his jaw looks and how soft his cheeks become in a perfect contradiction? Persephone knows why he’s the King of the Dead, because his looks could kill and his smile was lethal.
My name is Hades.
Nice to meet you, Hades.
His grin is absolutely devious when he flips his sign around, The pleasure’s all mine.
What’s that suppose to mean?
I mind being stalked less when it’s done by someone so cute.
At this, her ears burn bright and she hides behind her paper. He looks happy, that tiredness that seemed to possess even his bones now shifting into some kind of playfulness. She doesn’t mind, enjoys it infact, but it’s making her heart beat right out of her chest. She wills courage into her veins, finding strength in the desperation to have him again.To hear him in her ear, his voice a siren song in a deep baritone as she mewled for him. She can feel the red seep into her soul, that brave and feisty side of herself she tries so hard to shove away coming in handy.
She takes her time when she writes, putting special care into each curve and swoop of her letters. She keeps him waiting, and she sneaks in sparse glances as his gaze rests fully on her. Like she is the only thing that could ever matter, and that makes her stomach churn. She wants to be his everything, his only focus, just like he is her’s.
I cannot help if you’re addicting to look at.
It’s his turn to be bashful. And she’s so happy he is, seemingly, embarrassed. The light blue highlighting his cheekbones makes for a perfect picture, and if she were closer she’d love to snap a photo. Hades brushes his silver hair back into place, although no hairs had even fallen into a mess, and he takes in a breath. She has him, she knows she does, and her pulse quickens as the king runs a hand down his face. Hiding the evidence of his burning complexion.
Addicting?
Yes, addicting.
How bold of you to say.
It’s then that something catches his attention, something aside from her. His phone rings, which seems to make him flinch. She has to smile, what a silly boy. How could anybody be afraid of him? She certainly isn’t and never has been, she’d been at the mercy of his hands, turned into a puddle by his kiss. But she knows he is not capable of harm, not to her. Whoever is on the caller I.D has him sucking his teeth, mouth set in a thin line. He looks at her, back at his phone, and then seems apologetic. She’s worried now. That tired look comes back, like a heavy shadow wrapping him up tight.
He writes her another letter, this time going slow as if in mourning. She doesn’t want their conversation to end, and it seems he felt the same.
Goodnight, Persephone.
He doesn’t leave, doesn’t get up yet to retreat back into the darkness he appeared from. Instead, he waits for her. And once she understands he isn’t going without her permission, she rushes to get out her response.
Goodnight Hades.
With this he seems satisfied, nods to himself before he turns back to the buzzing phone. He grabs his chair, swipes right, and answers. And just like that he’s taken away.
Persephone stays in the window for much longer then she should, but could you blame her? She can’t stop thinking about the way that he smiled when she caught his eyes, or the way he leans back in his chair with wide legs. Fawned out just like that one night, silently inviting her whether he means it or not. She thinks she misses him already, but at long last she finally yawns.
She puts her head down, sighs into the crook of her elbow and wonders if they could do this again another night.