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It’s easy to think Hades doesn’t spare a second glance at Hythlodaeus. In public, he plays the part of the long-suffering victim of the chief overseer’s schemes and plots. An odd pair of friends, one might say; only thinly connected through their mutual soulsight.
That is more than fine with Hades. No one else needs to know just how often he looked at his friend.
Hythlodaeus had been pretty as a boy, and maturity only enhanced his beauty. Some envied him, others fawned. For his part, Hythlodaeus paid them little mind beyond polite responses. All of his life, he rarely left Hades’ side.
Hades couldn’t fathom it. Still struggles with the notion. Why would Hythlodaeus, a man who could have anyone with his beauty and wit, choose a bitter man like him? Was it truly only the soulsight that pulled Hythlodaeus to his side, again and again?
Hades found he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. As long as he could continue to enjoy Hythlodaeus’ company, why question it? In fact…he felt an itch in his heart. A compass, pointed towards his guiding star. He set his reports aside; nothing was so pressing that he couldn’t spare a few selfish moments to see his friend.
He knew the path from the Capitol to the Bureau of the Architect by heart - enough that he allowed himself to open his true eyes and see aether. He could not see Hythlodaeus’ soul from here - the distance was too vast, the other souls too dense - although his friend could likely see his own if he so wished.
Hades lets himself envision it; he recalls the way Hythlodaeus’ soft purple eyes defocus and he sees beyond the material world, into the realm of the Underworld that they alone share. At times it seemed even more than that - as if Hythlodaeus could not only see his soul, but all writ plain upon it. Hythlodaeus’ unnatural sight had unnerved others at times, but Hades could not help but feel comforted. There was never any miscommunication, nor any chance Hades could be misunderstood; not when Hythlodaeus could look inside of him and see the truth.
It also made keeping secrets from the man almost impossible. But if Hythlodaeus has noticed Hades’ ever-simmering infatuation, he has said nothing. Hades is glad for it. The last thing he needs is to ruin one of his only friendships with his utter incompetence at romance.
As he nears the Bureau of the Architect, he can see Hythlodaeus. His soul floats at the top level, indicating that he was likely in his office. Perfect. Hades wouldn’t want to intrude on anything pressing.
Although the sight of a Convocation member is always a grand one, his presence at the Bureau isn’t exactly strange. He’s been here much before, and the staff are well aware that he and the Chief Overseer are good friends. They all spout their greetings, assuring him that Hythlodaeus is indeed in his office.
His thumb rubs over his fingers in the elevator. He doesn’t really have an excuse for the visit. Should he maybe treat Hythlodaeus to dinner, as thanks for all his hard work? Would Hythlodaeus even have the time? All Hades wants to do is to sit and look at him.
“Ah, Emet-Selch!” Hythlodaeus greets politely as he enters. Hades’ lips twitch in a frown at the formality in private, but perhaps Hythlodaeus thinks he’s here on business. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Hades steps inside. His fingers clamber on the edges of his mask, pulling it free. It sits nicely on his chest, allowing Hades to peer at the chief with exposed golden eyes.
“No urgent business, Hythlodaeus,” Hades says with a shake of his head. “I merely wish to pass the time with a friend.”
A smile lifts Hythlodaeus’ soft lips. Long, slender fingers curl elegantly around the white mask, setting it down on the desk cluttered with concept matrices. Hythlodaeus’ bare face is a balm on Hades’ soul, his gentle features and unmasked warmth a comfort beyond words.
“My…a personal visit,” Hythlodaeus muses, as if it’s a scandalous notion. Those long fingers twist over his quill. “If the most eminent Emet-Selch doesn’t mind waiting a few minutes, I can finish up here and…we can take a walk?”
It’s a better plan than what Hades came up with, which was essentially nothing. It also afforded him the quiet time he craved. Watching Hythlodaeus at work was a rare occurrence, and Hades would not waste it.
He takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of Hythlodaeus’ desk. There’s a sofa by the window that is more comfortable, but it’s also farther away. From here, he can see the messy strands of Hythlodaeus’ lavender locks, always falling about his face even as he pushes them patiently behind his ear. Hythlodaeus’ robes always seem to fall loose around his slender frame; exposing his neck and collarbone, unable to stick to his thin forearms. He twirls the quill between his fingers, slim wrist rolling as he prepares to scrawl his looping signature on another approved concept.
What would it be like, Hades wonders, if he wrapped his own fingers around that wrist? He presses his hands into his lap, a restraint tighter than shackles. His fingers are thick and stocky, and with all likelihood they’d look clumsy and ridiculous wrapped around Hythlodaeus’ wrist. Or fingers. Or waist…
Oh, a pang of longing shoots through him at the thought. To take Hythlodaeus by his slim waist - his hands eclipsing both hips, lifting the slender man with ease into the air, twirling him around. And how he’d cling to him and laugh! Hythlodaeus always found joy in the simple things; a sea breeze, a field of flowers, the stars at night.
“Hades? Are you well?”
Hades looks up, realizing he has been staring at his tightly clenched hands and looking pained for a solid minute now. To Hythlodaeus’ credit, he does look genuinely concerned. His thick lilac brows are furrowed and curved in worry, twisting his pretty face.
Hardly, he thinks. “Yes,” he answers, the lie spilling over his tongue easier than he thought. Well, he was comfortable around Hythlodaeus, if nothing else. “Sore back. A walk would do me some good.”
Hythlodaeus snorts a laugh, turning slightly to hide his sweet smile behind a curled finger. “The dangers of bureaucracy. I daresay Azem’s risks pale in comparison to ours!”
Hythlodaeus must surely be tired. It’s such a pathetic attempt at being tongue-in-cheek that it’s almost laughable. Hades’ lips curl in what is probably a dumb, lovestruck grin, because Hythlodaeus is written all over his soul and sunk in there and will not leave.
The object of his affections rises from his chair, raising his arms over his head in a catlike stretch. Hades is entranced by the way his body moves so easily, despite the ‘dangers of bureaucracy’(sitting nearly motionless in a chair for over ten hours). Rolling his shoulders, Hythlodaeus scoops up the concept matrices and takes them back to a warded safe, locking them up for the night.
Hades forces himself to look away for propriety’s sake, lest his eyes remain on Hythlodaeus’ rear for too long.
The chief returns to his desk and sorts the unfinished paperwork away for the next morning. When all is settled, he picks up his mask and approaches Hades. His head is bowed, mask rolling between his fingers. His nails somehow remained so clean and polished, nothing like Hades’ bitten-down cuticles or the plant ecosystem in Azem’s beds.
“Hades,” he says, voice soft. There isn’t a hint of scheming or mischief in his voice, which worries Hades. “I have something to show you. A…place,” he adds hesitantly, “I want to take you to.”
Hades only nods, brow furrowing in concern. His friend is not one to stumble over his words like this. As they leave the bureau, respective masks in place, Hades realizes he is also oddly quiet. Normally Hythlodaeus was the chatterbox, filling the silence between them. Hades was more than content to listen to the newest and latest gossip around the Bureau of the Architect, even if not much of it interested him. But now Hythlodaeus was silent as a ghost, fingers twirling around each other in lieu of a mask.
It sent shivers up Hades’ spine. He dreaded a day where Hythlodaeus would not speak to him.
Eventually, Hythlodaeus begins to slow, until he finally comes to a stop. They’re in a field just a little ways out of the city bounds.
“Do you recognize this place?” Hythlodaeus asks him, once again removing his mask.
Hades follows suit; they are alone here. “Of course I do.”
And so should Hythlodaeus - this was the place they first met. This particular field, for some reason only conjectured by Underworld mages, was a “stopping point” for souls headed to the Underworld. They tended to linger here, and so had to be continually shepherded by the resident Emet-Selch.
It was here that a young Hades and Hythlodaeus discovered they weren’t alone in their strange ability. It was here they formed a lifelong friendship - and likely, Hades suspected, a friendship that had already spanned many lifetimes.
Why had Hythlodaeus brought him here again? Nostalgia?
Hythlodaeus turns to him, and from his glazed-over gaze Hades can tell he’s looking at his aether. Hades does the same in turn, watching how Hythlodaeus’ violet soul roils about turbulently. He’s…anxious? Had Hades unnerved him somehow?
“Yes, this is the place we met…” Hythlodaeus murmurs, and his voice sounds distant, as if it’s underwater or part of a hazy dream. They are in two realms at once, the material and the aetherial. Not even Azem can follow them here.
Even though the dense fog of aether, Hythlodaeus’ eyes are piercing. They are perhaps the sharpest feature of his otherwise blurred form. Sometimes Hades thinks Hythlodaeus should have taken the seat of Emet-Selch, the Lord of the Underworld; when Hythlodaeus stares at him like this, he feels as if he is being measured. Judged .
It makes his heart pound heavy in his chest.
“I took to you instantly,” Hythlodaeus admits to him, although it’s no great surprise to Hades. “You, in all your asperity, in all your splendor and potential, in all your might even as a child.”
Hades might have blushed, were it not difficult for his physical body to respond while in this state. Hythlodaeus cocks his head, soul swirling with intensity. “I could not stay away from you, even if I wanted to. Even if you wanted me to. There was something that kept pulling me back. Something I am far too weak to resist. You’re hard to love, Hades, it’s true - but I do. I love you.”
Hades comes crashing back to reality. The material world rocks him like a tidal wave, loss of focus forcing him out of the aetherial plane. His head swims; his stomach rolls.
“What?”
Hythlodaeus blinks slowly, disengaging his soul sight with more finesse. At first, he doesn’t have an answer - his lower lip quivers slightly, and he bites down on it. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I just-...no, I shouldn’t have-...” He can’t decide on what to say, or what to do - he shuffles his feet.
Hades doesn’t have to see his soul to know that his anxiety is skyrocketing. If he doesn’t act quickly, Hythlodaeus will bolt and they will never speak of this again. He isn’t sure how he manages it - he doesn’t even remember moving his feet - but somehow, he makes it over to the other. Somehow, he manages to wrap his arms around his waist. Somehow, he leans forward and kisses him.
It isn’t the best kiss. It’s Hades hastily mashing his mouth against Hythlodaeus’ soft, surprised lips. But it takes no more than a moment before Hythlodaeus is melting into it, arms wrapping around Hades’ shoulders for support. His shelter in the storm - just as it always has been. Just like their youth; a young Hades throwing an arm over him, protecting him from the over-agitated souls of the dead.
Hythlodaeus had fallen in love then, Hades realizes, and all this time he hadn’t said anything. Neither of them had, both of them too afraid of destroying their beloved friendship.
What idiots they were.
Hades pulls back for air, delighting in the sight beneath him. Hythlodaeus’ cheeks are flushed, lips plump and swollen from the kiss. His chest rises and falls with quick, heated breaths.
“Don’t go,” Hades says. Pleads . “Don’t go…I have so much I want to tell you.” Like how beautiful he looked right now, and how beautiful he always looked, and how precious he was to Hades, and how he wasn’t always good at telling him this, but that he would try, and as long as Hythlodaeus was patient, he swore to prove himself as a lover.
Hythlodaeus chuckled, once again hiding his brilliant smile behind his adorably small hand. “Don’t stress yourself for my sake. I can see it in your soul.”
“Still,” Hades replies, the weight in his hands all at once light as a feather and heavier than the whole star, “I would at least try. The Azems would fuss at me if I didn’t.”