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Summary
Midas wakes with his golden touch gone; something hes always wanted and never thought he would get. Hades is there to watch over it all.
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“I was trying to be civil, Midas.”
He laughed, sounding more like a single huff of air. “You’re never civil.”
Midas’s hand landed against the table, using it to steady himself and hating that even now, he wondered over the feeling. Spreading his fingers and pressing down, just to feel the minute divots that nicked at his skin from the stone. Hades’ eyes tracked the movements before falling back to Midas. “Am I not?”