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Love to Hermes always reminded him how candles burn. It didn’t matter how closely he protected the flame, or how gently he clasped the candle in his hands. The flame always was bound to blow out. Some of his loves had been nothing more than divine curiosity, yet others more fleeting, more genuine. Some of his loves had left such a severe impact on him that sometimes, when he squinted, the faces of the people he loved before would shine through.
However, the god never thought a romance could be as human as this.
During his travels, he heard rumors about Tiresias of Thebes through other gods or mortals. It was primarily rumored that Tiresias' prophetic abilities had been transferred to the Underworld. A rare occurrence, but a fascinating indication of intelligence. Hermes has learned not to feel much compassion for mortals through his years of travels. Although Hermes was empathetic, such personal matters conflicted with his line of work, for he was only a messenger. Empathy only led him to more pain, he learned. However, upon hearing about the unfortunate events that befell the Prophet, he felt a small amount of sympathy for him, as well as wishing to learn his wise insight.
When Tiresias arrived in the Underworld, Hermes took no time to greet him. They were essentially coworkers after all, Hermes believing it was proper courtesy to give a formal hello–if you’d call spying on him from afar until his pet snakes caught him being formal in his words. After an awkward, yet pleasant first greet, Hermes felt oddly drawn to the Prophet. The way Tiresias spoke, moved, and thought about each word so carefully made his heart swell. Hermes enjoyed listening to the Prophet speak about his visions, finding his voice to be incredibly easing. Almost soothing. Despite how little Tiresias spoke, he was quite fascinated when rambling. The Messenger God felt compelled to persist with his visits, Tiresias seeming pleased whenever Hermes did. The Underworld was a sad, desolate place. Most days, Tiresias spoke to nobody but the snakes on his staff, so Tiresias appreciated Hermes’ lively company. It gave the Prophet something to look forward to most days.
Hermes’ visits became more frequent, with him even pushing the boundaries of his working schedule to visit Tiresias. As their connection deepened, the god began to feel something stronger for the Prophet. Something he felt long before. It wasn’t a slow realization, it was sudden. Like a sharp dart that shot directly at the god's heart. He remembers the night vividly. The Messenger God was recounting his voyages to the Prophet. They sat together on the cold, desolate floor of Tiresias’ cave, with their shoulders gracing. Tiresias rested his head in the palm of his hand, intentionally listening to the travels of the Messenger God. Usually, Hermes was a smooth talker. Words were never difficult for the god, with them coming naturally to him. However, Tiresias attended to his words like the entirety of the world became still, and Hermes was the only voice that he could hear. Hermes was so lost in his head that his words began to trail off. In the god's mind, he wondered; has he always felt this way towards Tiresias?
After much self-reflection, (in his case, consulting with Circe, the Witch of Aeaea, who was already acquainted with the Prophet), he realized that he had always romantically regarded Tiresias. Hermes, ever so prideful, suppressed it until the feeling became too inevitable. And although he intended to ask the Prophet to be his in a more spectacular manner, his nerves weren’t on his side that fateful night. Perhaps the god was too in his head to comprehend his actions, nor what he was saying, but he foolishly confessed his immense attraction to the Prophet. Tiresias was stunned, yet mumbled a quiet, almost shy thank you. And without thinking, the Messenger God leaned in to kiss him. Although unexpected, the Prophet didn’t pull away, instead embracing it. He held Hermes' face like it was fragile porcelain. And as they pulled away, Tiresias, with a soft smile on his face, professed his reciprocated attraction.
The next few months of their relationship felt perfect. Hermes has dated many others, but none felt as genuine as this love. Tiresias loved the god gently, giving Hermes the patience he needed once the time occurred. Tiresias never once asked too much of the god, his only request was his presence. The Prophet always waited for Hermes' arrival every day, even if he never appeared. Tiresias attentively listened to the Messenger God's long-winded ramblings, giving small commentary when necessary. Hermes always remembered little things about Tiresias. How he hummed when Hermes talked, how he loved holding Hermes' hand, how he'd reply with 'hm' instead of answering sometimes to signify he was listening. Hermes memorized his lovers' favorites and never forgot them.
Despite everything, the cracks Hermes spent years patching soon started to bleed into their relationship. He tried for centuries to suppress the pain, but it only continued to pour. Rapidly, it was inevitable. It slowly trickled into every aspect of his life, making it difficult to face others, especially his lover. Even when he was at his happiest, even when he felt more loved than ever before, why did he have to feel such pain? Such doubt? Why, out of all people, would Tiresias love him? Is it out of pity, or because of obligation for his divine status? And if his love saw him as the fraud he truly was, someone who he wasn’t, would Tiresias still love him? He knew Tiresias wouldn’t think of such thoughts. He was a genuine, kind man. He never showed any anger towards the god. However, Hermes couldn’t help but let his fears dictate him like a puppet. He worried if Tiresias saw how broken he was under all his dramatics, that maybe, he would leave him too, like the countless amounts of people he loved previously.
Perhaps that’s why their relationship eventually crumbled. Tiresias, ever the insightful, recognized his lover's distress. He asked what was wrong calmly, and didn’t pressure him for an answer. As their relationship continued, the Prophet kept questioning. Hermes denied his sorrow every time. He claimed that he, as a god, never was anything but okay. He wore it off with a charismatic smile. Tiresias never believed him. He saw through people effortlessly, especially Hermes. And so, a verbal argument ensued between the pair after Hermes continued to refuse aid. Tiresias, frustrated, contested why Hermes was so insistent on his mental state being intact when it was obvious that was a blatant lie. Hermes denied, claiming that he was being nothing but truthful and that the Prophet had no need to worry. Tiresias, almost hurt at what Hermes said, continued. He asked why Hermes was so hesitant to let him in. That they needed to trust each other. He proclaimed that they were lovers, and trust was essential for their relationship, yet Hermes continued to fail in said trust. Hermes, stubborn as ever, still refused, refuting that Tiresias shouldn't care about his mental state.
“Please. Just leave my cave, Hermes.” Tiresias said, his voice sounding hurt. Tiresias was never one for arguments, so his anger surprised Hermes. “We cannot maintain this relationship if you continue to persist in lying to me.” And per request, Hermes did.
The following months, the Messenger God attempted to drown out his sorrow through Dionysus’ lavish parties. If he drank enough or spoke enough, the image of Tiresias' pain would hopefully leave his mind. However, it never did. Despite his excessive partying or how much work he put into delivering messages, he never stopped thinking about him. Not even once. There was nobody but himself to blame for how they ended. He loved Tiresias more than mortal words could describe. Hermes hadn't meant to hurt his love by his immaturity and defensiveness. However, as the God of Speed, the only thing he knew how to do was run. To run from facing his emotions. He especially didn’t want Tiresias to see him in such a wrecked state of mind. Hermes has lost tons of lovers, either from his stupidity or the fate of their lives coming to a demise, the blame being on nobody's hands but his. He loathed himself for letting his loves perish before his eyes and didn’t want the same to happen to Tiresias. Out of all of them, he desired to keep Tiresias close. To show him that despite everything he has been through, the pain the Prophet had endured, he was still worthy of love. But all was too late.
While at one of Dionysus’ parties, he was accompanied by Apollo. Hermes, ever the curious, pestered him about Tiresias’ whereabouts. Apollo barely knew the Prophet; it had been years since their last encounter, but he had no desire to talk to him. Yet, Hermes was still persistent in asking about him. Apollo has known Hermes all his life—he was one of the few people who could see through Hermes’ thick layers of protection around his fragile heart.
“Do you honestly think you're fooling anybody?” The God of Music lashed out, angrily clasping his wine glass. “That dodging your feelings behind all your charm and quick-winded comments can hide it? You believe if you repress it enough, no one will see you bleeding. But I do, I always have.” Hermes, like always, refused his claims. Apollo sighed, placing his wind glass down. “Instead of crawling to me, pleading for anything regarding that Prophet, confront him yourself. Go talk to Tiresias. Prove that you care instead of running away like you always do, Hermes.”
And Apollo was right. The god knew he couldn’t run from the burden growing inside his chest. Hermes couldn’t bear his longing for the Prophet any longer. Thoughts of Tiresias consumed his every waking thought, and he saw no other way to evade it. In a moment of desperation, he picked Tiresias' favorite flowers—lilies, as he remembered.
“I've always adored lilies," Tiresias reminisced on one of their dates. He held the flowers in his hands gently in such a motherly instinct, as if he was holding his child. "They remind me of my daughter. These were her favorite when she was little." The image of Tiresias, smiling fondly when talking about his daughter, never left Hermes' mind.
He picked the exact flowers Tiresias showed him during their date, making sure they were freshly picked. And here he awaited outside of Tiresias’ cave, holding the bouquet securely in his hands. He peered in through one of the holes of the cave. Tiresias sat alone, staff in hand. His head hung low, his long hair flowing over his shoulders. Hermes watched Tiresias’ still movements intently, but didn’t utter a word.
“I know you’re there, Hermes,” Tiresias spoke, lifting his head. Hermes knew that his presence wasn’t a secret. The snakes on Tiresias’ staff always spotted him whenever he was observing the shade. They were incredibly observant creatures. The Messenger God revealed himself from his hiding spot, flying over to Tiresias. He kept his distance, though.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Hermes asked with a soft smile. He hid the flowers he delicately picked behind his back.
“A while, yes.” Tiresias nodded, using the bottom of his staff to pull himself up from the cold cavern ground. The snakes on his staff whistled comments to each other.
“I come bearing gifts, dear Prophet,” Hermes replied, floating a bit closer to hand the shade of the bouquet of lilies. Tiresias’ hands wandered until they found the bouquet. The Prophet took Hermes’ gift, feeling the petals with his thin fingers. His hands studied the flowers, trying to figure out what kind of flowers they were.
“How thoughtful of you... you still remembered after all this time.” Tiresias mumbled as he continued to feel the petals under his fingertips. “Why are you here, may I ask? You're no longer bound to me, and I believe I made my opinions firm, no?
“Yes, I’m aware. But,” Hermes slowly floated downwards, the bottom of his Talaria's touching the cold ground beneath him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I never thought about how loud your presence was.”
“I’m hardly loud at all,” Tiresias stated, his focus turning from the flowers to Hermes.
“I’m aware, dear Prophet. It’s just...” Hermes paused, attempting to formulate his words. Typically, words flowed through Hermes' mouth like it was the easiest task ever. Why, only when he wanted to express his genuine thoughts, did they falter? However, he pushed his pride and rare anxiety aside. “I was thinking about you. About how I hurt you in ways I didn’t intend.” Tiresias seemed surprised by Hermes’ honesty. The shade's face was hardly expressive, with Hermes sometimes having difficulty comprehending his thoughts through the curves of his face. Always flat, yet always calm. But now, even through his facial bandages, he could feel Tiresias’ gaze.
“How come you couldn’t be honest before?” Tiresias inquired. His grip on his staff tightened. Hermes felt a lump grow in his throat.
“Because… I was scared.” Hermes conceded, his confession echoing across Tiresias’ cave. “Your assumptions were correct, I wasn’t okay. I’ve never truly been okay, it’s just… All I’ve known is to run. And I didn’t want to shame my divinity by showing you my weakness.” Hermes hung his head low, ashamed of his words. Ashamed of himself for hiding from Tiresias like a coward. That he hurt the person he loved the most. That he even needed to apologize for his actions in the first place.
“I’ve only wished to make you happy, Tiresias,” the god continued, “and I thought my problems shouldn’t be a burden you had to carry. That this was my issue to deal with, not yours. But my ignorance only hurts you more... And I’m sorry.” Hermes felt his heart become heavy. Like a weight was put upon him. He felt tears fill the corners of his eyes but covered the sight with the wings on the side of his head. He didn’t want to unnerve Tiresias with his self-pity. He wasn’t particularly comfortable with himself crying either. Tears were such an unknown phenomenon for Hermes that he didn’t know how to react when he sobbed.
“I understand,” Tiresias replied after a period of silence. Hermes glanced up, uncovering his wings to peer at the Prophet’s face. He hated that Tiresias saw him like this; as the cracked being he truly was under his facade. “Nobody is perfect, Hermes, and I’m aware. You don’t need to hide from me.”
“I know. I’m sorry I hid.” Hermes replied. "I love you, Tiresias. No mortal words can describe how much love I bear for you. If I ever had to sacrifice my life for your own, I would in a heartbeat. In every timeline, in every universe, no matter how strained we become, I’ll always love you with my entire being and for eternity. I never meant to hurt you, Tiresias. I was afraid that you wouldn’t love me once you figured out how broken I was, after realizing much of a mess I truly am. So, I ran, and I shouldn't have. And... I'm sorry.”
Tiresias didn’t speak after Hermes’ confession. The Prophet stayed silent, yet his face showed no judgment. Instead, the Prophet reached his arm out, pulling the Messenger God into his embrace. Hermes longed for Tiresias’ warmth, more than the god believed he did. Hermes rested his head over Tiresias’ shoulder, hugging the shade back as if he were on his dying breath.
“I love you too, Hermes,” Tiresias spoke, his voice almost a whisper. “And I always will. I tried desperately not to think about you throughout our separation, but my mind always wandered towards you. You seem to have made yourself quite comfortable in my life, though I’m not entirely complaining.” The Prophet closed his mouth for a second, trying to pick the best words for what he wanted to say, much like Hermes. “It’s impossible for a person to have no cracks. That’s what makes us human. That goes for gods such as yourself, too. You still have humanity in your core. And I believe that doesn’t make you any less divine.”
Tiresias always had such a way of words. Although the Prophet never spoke much, he knew Hermes even better than the god knew himself sometimes.
“I’m sorry for getting mad at you,” the Prophet continued, “I meant no harm either. You always seemed so carefree, so eager, it was worrisome to see you in such an altered state. Especially when I wasn’t sure what may have occurred. I.. I regretted my words from that night immensely. For letting my feelings dictate my speech. For letting my words hurt you. I didn’t want us to end. Not like that, not ever… and I’m sorry for pushing you away after I got so frustrated instead of rationalizing my emotions.”
Hermes let go of Tiresias to peer at the Prophet's face. He, much like Hermes, looked on the brink of tears. Despite how somber Tiresias was, he never saw the Prophet cry. Hermes couldn’t help but feel anything but guilty that he didn’t recognize how his words and frustration could have affected his lover. Hermes reached out once more, placing a gentle hand on the Prophet’s cheek. He felt small droplets fall from the Prophet’s facial bandages. Small, but impactful. The Messenger God gently wiped his tears away, the Prophet slowly leaning into Hermes’ warm touch.
“You don’t need to apologize, my love, I understand. But I promise you; I will never act so foolish again. Never.” Hermes reiterated as he gracefully ran his thumb across the shades cold cheek.
“...No more secrets?”
“No more secrets, my dear.” Hermes reiterated once more, watching as the Prophet’s lips formed into a soft smile, one Hermes grew to adore more than the world itself. Hermes couldn’t help but smile back at the Prophet, and lean in. They’ve kissed before, countless times. However, this kiss felt different from their previous ones. Almost as if it was surer of itself. As if it was saying that no matter what they get into, no matter how many cracks the other may have, their love will always remain. Hermes ran a hand through the Prophet’s hair as he tilted his head, further deepening their kiss. As the two soon pulled away, they couldn’t help but smile at each other.
“So, how about I make it up to you, hm? I found a lovely pond while I was reflecting, and I wanted to take you there, my love.” Hermes suggested. He felt the shades cheeks grow gradually warmer under the palm of his hand.
“A date? Hmm… that does sound pleasant, yes.” Tiresias responded, the curve of his mouth growing gradually larger.
“Then, I’ll make it worthwhile.” Hermes let go of Tiresias’ face, reaching for his hand full of the bouquet of lilies he gifted. He lifted the Prophet’s hand closer to him, picking out one of the flowers and gently placing it behind the Prophet’s ear. The color of the lilies perfectly blended with Tiresias' soft features. “It looks beautiful in your hair.”
“Thank you, Hermes.” The Prophet responded, fondness pouring from his voice. Hermes’ cheeks burned, and carefully took the bouquet from his lover's hands.
“I’ll carry these for you.” Hermes offered, holding the stems of the flowers delicately. The Prophet’s smile grew larger.
“Such a gentleman, I see,” Tiresias commented, softly chuckling after his observation. He reached out for Hermes’ other hand, slowly intertwining their fingers.
“Only for you, dearest.” Hermes' lips quickened a familiar smile as he squeezed their hands gently. He brushed his thumb against Tiresias’ cold skin. “Shall we? The pond awaits us.”
“Lead the way,” Tiresias replied. And Hermes does. However, this time, he doesn’t look back.