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“Hold out your hands, and close your eyes, darling.”
Tiresias stared blankly in the direction of where they imagined Hermes was hovering, judged off the soft flaps of his shoes a few feet up.
“What?”
“Why am I closing my eyes?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Hermes spoke again, this time sounding a bit flustered. “Uh- for the mystery, of course. For the vibes.”
Tiresias snorted softly and obeyed, cupping their hands together and closing their eyes so the white was overshadowed by darkness.
“Very well. Now, what is this for?”
“For this, darling.” Something jagged but sanded down, circular in shape, pressed into their palms. Tiresias cautiously felt over it; smooth stones pressed perfectly into a crown of branches, though there were some silkier smooth parts woven in. Flower petals?
“Is this a...?”
“A circlet.” Hermes lifted it back from their hands, and the delicate weight settled into their hair. “It’s made with…brown wood, some flowers to match your ribbons. And some very pretty stones and gems. But I kept it subtle, what I thought you’d like. I won’t have my lover wandering around looking gaudy, like one of Aphrodite’s old projects.”
Tiresias felt it out, matching the sensations to what he described. It smelled good, too. Smelled like fresh air and Hermes’ warmth.
“Thank you,” they murmured, a small smile unfolding on their thin lips. “I love it. But…Hermes, why the sudden intricate gift?” Before, Hermes had brought down a tortoise shell and ribbons and flowers and other small trinkets. This was far more thoughtful and apparently labor-intensive.
“Ah, I thought you might not be able to tell.” A soft thump hinted Hermes had touched down, and warm hands wrapped around Tiresias’ own. “Today is the twenty-year anniversary of when I first met you, I believe.”
“Is it really?” Tiresias lifted their head. Between the two of them- an immortal god and a prophet that lived where time was impossible to keep track of- Tiresias had never thought they’d hear those words. “Well, I…I haven’t got anything for you.”
Those warm hands slipped away from theirs, only to return to cup Tiresias’ jaw. “I think you do, darling.”
“I don’t-”
Hermes’ thumb brushed over Tiresias’ lip. “Oh...you mean you want a kiss?”
“Yes.” Hermes leaned even closer, and his breath ghosted over Tiresias’ neck like the opposite of a chill. “...but I’ll not steal it from you. Even if I am the god of thieves."
The wordplay made Tiresias smile wider, and they trusted the circlet to stay put as they let it go, brushing their hands across Hermes’ shoulders, up his neck, into those soft curls. “No. Take all you’d like, my dearest thief.”
Hermes chuckled, and though Tiresias never saw his smile, he felt the way Hermes’ lips curved against their own.