![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For @sybarite
Jan. 2nd, 2021 03:45 pmHow long has it been since he's braved the height of summer? Hades isn't too sure, but he's soon reminded as to why he had not. The sun sits high and bright in the midday sky, and while it lights up the idyllic lavender fields of the French countryside, he finds himself ill-adapted for it. Creatures of below have never fared well in direct sunlight and he's getting a crash course as to why.
The heat is oppressive, and the light too bright for his eyes accustom to darkness. Squinting does little. Neither does peeling off his jacket, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms, or loosening his collar. He had picked out a suit that morning as per normal custom, but now he regrets that decision in its entirety. His dark curls are starting to stick to the back of his neck, and even his pallid skin is starting to take a little color.
He should be miserable, he thinks, but even against the stifling heat, he finds himself only feeling a quickening of his heartbeat. Is it anticipation? Excitement maybe? It's akin to the first time he had waited (hoped) for her to return below. It hasn't been so long since he's seen her face, but the loneliness that had followed spring's arrival (or departure, as it were) had been more than he had felt in a long time. It was what prompted this whole trip.
He finds her finally outside, of course, the laissez-faire attitude of the French countryside suiting her well. The sun has bronzed her skin and her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. She's dressed light (obviously, his wife is much smarter than himself), and he wouldn't be surprised if she were barefoot. It's far past spring now, technically speaking, but she still is in the height of her element. He cannot yet see her face, but she just seems happy. There's a fleeting moment of doubt that maybe he shouldn't disturb her, but he's come all this way, he hardly feels the desire to back off now.
Even with no real shadow to hide him, he still can approach her in secrecy. He may not have brought the helm, but he's been the Unseen One since birth. Maybe though, their centuries of marriage has prevented him from fully surprising her. Maybe she notices before he brushes his fingers over the warm, bared skin of her arm; before he bends and presses his lips to her temple.
"Haven't you learned not to pick flowers alone?"
The heat is oppressive, and the light too bright for his eyes accustom to darkness. Squinting does little. Neither does peeling off his jacket, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms, or loosening his collar. He had picked out a suit that morning as per normal custom, but now he regrets that decision in its entirety. His dark curls are starting to stick to the back of his neck, and even his pallid skin is starting to take a little color.
He should be miserable, he thinks, but even against the stifling heat, he finds himself only feeling a quickening of his heartbeat. Is it anticipation? Excitement maybe? It's akin to the first time he had waited (hoped) for her to return below. It hasn't been so long since he's seen her face, but the loneliness that had followed spring's arrival (or departure, as it were) had been more than he had felt in a long time. It was what prompted this whole trip.
He finds her finally outside, of course, the laissez-faire attitude of the French countryside suiting her well. The sun has bronzed her skin and her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. She's dressed light (obviously, his wife is much smarter than himself), and he wouldn't be surprised if she were barefoot. It's far past spring now, technically speaking, but she still is in the height of her element. He cannot yet see her face, but she just seems happy. There's a fleeting moment of doubt that maybe he shouldn't disturb her, but he's come all this way, he hardly feels the desire to back off now.
Even with no real shadow to hide him, he still can approach her in secrecy. He may not have brought the helm, but he's been the Unseen One since birth. Maybe though, their centuries of marriage has prevented him from fully surprising her. Maybe she notices before he brushes his fingers over the warm, bared skin of her arm; before he bends and presses his lips to her temple.
"Haven't you learned not to pick flowers alone?"
