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Later, from the perspective of the wisdom that came only with age, Hades would look back at his younger self's constant volunteering to run the latest processed crystals down to the Bureau of the Architect and think 'of course everyone knew what was going on'. There was no other mundane task where he nearly fistfought the other interns for the right to run errands, completed every run without fail, and somehow still was nearly late getting back.
But right now, in the folly of youth, he thought he was being subtle. Hades paused to look in the reflection of the train window as they slid through the city like a delicate and refined serpent through clear water, ignoring the beautifully sculpted architecture in favor of making sure his hair wasn't poking out from under his hood and his mask was on straight. No crumbs from lunch hiding anywhere in the folds of his robe, the skin of his hands clear of stains. It wasn't vanity, to look socially acceptable, he told himself. He was an intern of the Conceptual Archive, and he represented that prestigious institution when he was out and about. It was only natural to want to represent it properly.
Not that Hythlodaeus, the front desk clerk at the Bureau of the Architect, ever had his mask on straight. There was always that tiny tease of purple hair peeking out from around the edges of the hood, teasing him with its garish contrast to the darkness of his robes and the pale grey of his mask. There was always that smile that made anything the mask concealed full irrelevant, the way it beamed like a sun lamp and lit up the room. That laugh that echoed, that shook up Hades and left him off kilter for the rest of the day.
For the sake of that laugh he'd spend the entire morning commuting to the Bureau of the Architect just for a few precious moments of hearing it ring. That didn't mean he didn't have some guilt about doing it on company time, but if the errand had to get done anyway, then what was the harm in sneaking in some personal enjoyment of it? No harm at all. Definitely nothing to be nervous about.
On the way down from the train platform Hades nearly walked right into a lampost for how not nervous he was.
Hythlodaeus was in his usual spot at the front desk, slouched unprofessionally at the Bureau's reception desk, flicking his way through a rotating wheel of weather formations projected by the crystal in his hand. That bright flash of lilac hair was peeking out from the side of his hood as usual, a pop of color amongst dim figures and dull stone. Hades' back was ramrod straight as he marched through the door, across the room, and formally deposited the crystals in front of the clerk.
The little giggle Hythlodaeus made upon looking up sent Hades' chest clenching.
"This is your second trip down here this week, you know," Hythlodaeus said, not even bothering to move from his slouched position, with one elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "Do you really need to see me so badly?" One finger slowly flicked to the image of a coiling tornado. Even that lazy gesture seemed elegant, somehow.
"There was an overabundance of older decapod crustacean designs returned to the Conceptual Archives last month," said Hades, his heart in his throat. "I'm merely delivering the backlog of finished processes."
Hythlodaeus laughed again, and Hades felt his cheeks burn. If not for the mask, he might have made a fool of himself right here in the reception area. "Of course. The backlog! I see, I see."
Hades shoved the crystals at him before his voice could betray him further and turned to leave. He made it halfway across the room before Hythlodaeus called out, "You know, if you want to see me outside of this room, you only have to ask."
Hades stopped in his tracks. He turned, a curt formality on his tongue, ready to dissuade any implication that he was here on anything but official business, to see Hythlodaeous leaning over the counter with one side of his mask pushed up, revealing a single lavender-colored eye. The eye, with a flirtatious energy that nearly sent Hades into a delirium, winked.
Hades' mouth went dry as a desert as he struggled for words. When nothing came out his feet took up the slack, and sent him running for the train again in a panic. That golden laugh was still echoing in his ears. He spent the rest of the ride back to his office banging his head against the window, admonishing himself for all that he could have said in return.
Next time. Next time he'd have the perfect statement crafted, like an intricately woven concept, and then he'd be able to ask Hythlodaeus to a symposium without his soul trying to physically leave his body and take an early lunch break.