Flower Fields

by Orchidaceae001

Summary:

Crocus is the youngest of his family, son to Amyclas and Diomedes brother of six and most beautiful of his family, and for all this he does not wish to get married, though he must.

Hermes has not ever taken a lover and the death of Hyacinthus is fresh on his and Apollo's minds, when he meets Crocus he is enamoured.

but the fates have already spun their threads, and one is soon to be cut.

Chapter 1: Prolouge.

And so did dear Crocus lie upon the field in which he met his lover, and o’er him did Hermes cry as the red left Crocus’s temple. Great Hermes who could not save him, not for all the ambrosia he gave, nor the prayers and hope to his brother Apollo, who could do nought but heal Crocus’s wounds, and yet his soul never stirred.  

Broken hearted did Hermes make his action, delivering the body of Crocus to the field in which they once lay, he turned his lovers body into a field of flowers, of which he dubbed the name Crocus, and performed his job so given by Hades lord of dead, and delivered his loves soul to the underworld never to meet great Hermes again.  

Chapter 2: Chapter 1. meeting.

Summary:

Hermes and Crocus meet!

also we hate smilax.

Crocus, youngest of his family, son to Amyclas and Diomedes, brother to six, youngest of all, and most beautiful, all true of course, and here he stood, in his room, pacing nervously, to be wed at such a young age, before all his siblings, at the age of twenty was supposed to be a gift, an honour.  

Instead Crocus was panicked, worried enough for his legs to shake as he moved, his Chiton crumpled and uncomfortable over his skin, though he continuously straightened it, he couldn’t will away his panic.  

Taking a deep breath Crocus took his Himation and slung it over his shoulder, its purple colouring stark against the pale chiton underneath it. His sandals clicked lightly against the floor, his breathing loud in the silent room.  

Finally he began moving, walking swiftly to where he was expected, shooing off his older brothers, the ones that spoke mindlessly at him, excited or envious, all of them melded together, faces each indistinguishable from another like leaves on a tree.  

Finally he found himself Infront of the temple, where his future wife would be, the idea itself made his stomach churn and disgust ran rampant through his mind, he did not wish for marriage, he did not know the woman, did not what her face was, nothing about her was known to him, save for her name.  

Smilax ‘weed’ her name fit her perfectly, a weed in a garden carefully maintained, each step he took was carefully arranged so he’d never have to be in the situation he was now, her existence proved to ruin and kill the garden that was his heart, fresh and still beating.  

He'd never even been in love, sure he’d had the odd puppy crush, a boy he liked in training, a servant he found particularly handsome, but never had he truly cared for another in such a way, and now, now he never would.  

And there she stood, in a peplos, white as milk, a veil hung over her head, though under it he could see long wavy gold hair, again his stomach churned and he felt silly for it, Afterall, she was the one taken from her home, her friends, family, sister if she had any, her mother, everyone she knew she’d abandon, and here he was feeling like his life was over, when it was meant to have been the best day of his life.  

He walked down beside her, eyes focused on the bleating lamb in front of him, he felt her eyes on him, he looked first to the lamb instead of the woman he was to wed, he knew it was socially improper, but as long as it was not illegal, Crocus was perfectly willing to do it.  

“are you Crocus?”  

Her voice was soft, sweet as honey and like bells ringing, he swore he’d go insane if he had to perk his ears to hear her quiet muttering on the daily, and yet here he was. He knew he was to kill the lamb, and she to sacrifice it, or them to kill it together and sacrifice it together, he could not be certain the exact order of things anymore, he’d not bothered to listen when his mother had droned on about it.  

“yes, you are Smilax i presume?”  

She nodded almost eagerly, he swore he could see her grin, though her face was entirely hidden from him, behind a veil as milk white as her skin.  

“yes, yes i am, shall we hurry this on?”  

He simply nodded, taking the knife into his hands and looking to her, as if she were to protest, to scream and cry and kick, to beg to not have to marry a stranger, and he would be gladly willing to say he would not marry her, and still, he was here, doing just that.  

He drove the knife into the Lamb’s chest, watching as the blood bled crimson red from the alter down, dribbling into the ground, its very life force, its existence torn away from it far too soon to be fair, and he knew within the depths of his soul that he and the lamb were one and the same, both chained by a fate they could not escape.  

The sacrifice went by in a blur, as did the feast, he hardly ate anything, simply prodding at his plate, chewing a bite of meat for as long as he could get away with, choking it down with water for fear he’d retch it back up immediately after.  

He felt his arm being tugged, he blinked, the room was mostly empty, men talking to servant women who shied away from them with prepared excuses, women who hung to their husbands' arms and children who wailed and screamed.  

It was chaos, pure and utter chaos, his head swam as he looked on at them, stomach roiling, his throat burned with bile that sat with half swallowed chunks of meat.  

Smilax, the weed she was, was dragging him off, he stumbled along with her, trying to catch up to her speed, and then they were alone, and she lifted her veil. His heart dropped.  

Her face was beautiful, obviously, he was a Prince, he’d have been surprised if she’d been an average woman, but that mattered not, he’d never wanted to marry anyway.  

Her eyes were big and doe like, long lashes that fanned over them, a hooked nose sat in the middle of her face, her mouth was small and she did not smile, her skin pale with light rosing, she was in all senses of the word, beautiful.  

She was a nymph. He wondered if her tree had to be uprooted and moved, or perhaps her river close to the castle? had it been protected? Had she agreed to this? She looked enamoured, looked as if she loved him, and that he could not stomach, the way her eyes sparkled when they met his, the way her lips turned up slightly at the edge, a smile, as if she could not help herself from doing so.  

She held his hand, her skin soft, but in the way waterlogged wood was soft, he could still feel the grains of her fingers underneath his, he wanted to run, he wanted to escape, but he couldn’t.  

The night passed quick, he tried to separate his body from himself, from her and voice, painfully hard to hear, from promises of forever that he never wanted, that he wished only to never have been made. he rose with the sun, as he always did, he moved as quick as he could, slipping on his sandals, not bothering to change into his chiton, the loose fabric of the tunic was more comfortable than the chiton anyway.  

He ran, he didn’t know how far, or how long, he just ran, his heart thrummed in his chest, beating with the ragged breaths that left his lips, his hair fell down upon his face and over his eyes.  

He stumbled to a stop, bending down and holding his knees as he fought to catch his breath, he didn’t like it, not here, he was too close to that accursed palace, to the Nymph he had by no means wanted to marry.  

He slumped down against a bush, it leaned, wavered and then he was falling through it, his face was scratched by thorns, his hands twitched, light droplets of blood slipping onto the thorny ground, he didn’t get up.  

He had no reason to, he was prince, he could go out on a run, he could abandon his wife, he could fall into a thorn bush and get torn to shreds if he so liked, but though he knew this it didn’t make it any easier, to know she was there, to know he’d given up his life when he could have ran, when he’d had the opportunity to.  

The air went still, a light fluttering noise sounded near his ears, he opened his eyes, to be met with deep golden irises, the man Infront of him sported light Chesnut brown hair, it fell down around his face in waves, his lips were turned down into a small frown.  

Atop his head he wore a petasos, though it was leaned back upon his head as if it were to slip off. Possibly the oddest thing, was that under that petasos were two white wings, each feathers end was dipped in a deep brown that almost seemed to melt into his hair.  

The God, because that's what this man had to be spoke, his voice gentle, kind, beautiful, everything Smilax was but better, and he couldn’t get persecuted for saying that, not when it was about this god, the one with beauty so unattainable it almost hurt to look at him.  

“are you going to stay in that bush?”  

He found himself laughing unexpectedly, he had expected to be reprimanded, perhaps he’d fallen upon the gods hidden garden and ruined a bush, or perhaps the god would ask something of him, punish him for being so un-princely, instead he asked the most stupid question Crocus had ever heard, and he loved it.  

He sat up, thorns cutting back across his cheeks and arms, his back ached from the thorns that had deeply imbedded themselves into it, the pain was almost too much, almost. But if it meant he could lay his eyes upon this god for even a second more he would endure it.  

The god floated just a bit away, as if to give Crocus space, he wiped his hand over his cheek, smearing blood as he attempted to tidy himself up, it was of course in vain, his Tunic was torn and smattered with drops of fresh blood, his cheeks were stained red with light fresh cuts every which way, his hair was a proper mess, he was in no state for a god to see him.  

His eyes flicked to the gods hand, in it he held a staff, one of gold, a long sceptre, two twin snakes, one silver one copper, wrapped together around the staff, atop its helm were two long wings.  

Hermes.  

“ah, forgive me lord Hermes but may i ask why you are here?”  

He knew the god had no message to give him, he may have been a prince, but that was all he was, a prince, nothing more, nothing less, he was no hero, no son of the gods, he was nothing, a mortal.  

“can a god not take a stroll?”  

He stumbled over his words in response, horrified at his hubris, the idea he could speak to a god as if he were on the same level as him, the idea that he did not need to fall to his knees and worship at the gods feet, to beg for his life.  

“ah i-i apologise lord Hermes, i did not mean to offe-”  

His words were cut off sharply, the god pressing his finger to Crocus’s lips as if to shush him.  

“enough of that, i was joking, why are you so nervous?”  

He breathed out, it felt like Aeolus was keeping the air from his lungs, steering the wind away from his lips, forcing him to struggle to bring it into his lungs. He knew he shouldn’t have ran, he was going to die at the feet of a god, at least the last face he would see was Hermes’s.  

“are you okay? You're acting like you’ve never known a day of air”  

He stared up at the god who now had his feet planted firmly on the grass, wings folded up against his ankles, it almost looked as if he was wearing boots. The god padded towards him, kneeling down and staring at Crocus face to face.  

Then he pressed his hand to Crocus’s chest, he was sure his heart was beating loud enough for Hermes to feel it, the idea alone made him feel like he’d die here and now, he’d die at the hands of a god, or at the hands of his own embarrassment.  

“calm down, I'm not going to hurt you, gods I'm not prepared to calm down mortals, that's more Appollo’s speed, or Asclepius’s”  

The god had ended up muttering to himself, Crocus forced himself to breath in deeply, listening to the god speak, his voice was calm and most likely, the most beautiful voice he’d ever hear.  

“oh, you’re good now! Alright, i say you get back to your home”  

He stood shakily and nodded.  

“right, thank you Lord Hermes, i apologise for taking your time”  

Hermes just laughed in response, ruffling Crocus’s hair and walking off, the wings around his wings unfurled, he pulled down his petasos and disappeared through the trees.  

 

Chapter 3: chapter 2.

Notes:

hello! i'm so sorry i didn't update this yesterday! been a bit forgetful this week, hopefully won't happen again.
on other matters, more Hermes! he's my favourite goober.

Had it been a week already? Crocus hadn’t dared go on his usual walks, he wanted to, the urge to leave this accursed house was itching deep beneath his skin.  

He rolled off the bed, he’d hardly left his room, it was one of the only places he could be alone in, Smilax the accursed Nymph would  jump him if he dared to be near her, she’d grin with those perfect teeth of hers and insist that she loved him when she’d only heard his voice once.  

He was smarter this time, choosing to put on his chiton and sandals, he’d been an idiot last time, he’d gone outside, he’d went running as if he was trying to escape the wrath of an angry god, he was surprised that he’d even had the wits to put on sandals back then.  

Now he would be smarter, his arms were still wrapped in bandages, as were his back, sloppily put on, he hadn’t wanted Smilax to insist on taking care of him, he’d lurked behind in the castle for hours, remaining hidden, watching as his brothers, all older than him, all smarter too, had gone about their perfect days.  

He moved faster through the halls than he had in a while, if Smilax saw him...the idea of having to talk to her made his heart drop and his stomach roil, he was glad that he hadn’t eaten earlier, he wouldn’t have wanted to throw up.  

The halls of the palace soon ended, he knew it would look odd, the youngest prince in nothing but a simple chiton and sandals, head ducked as he walked fast through the city, soon it too disappeared, subject to thick forestry he loved so dearly.  

He slowed his walk, taking in deep breaths, the air fresh and cold on his tongue, the brambles scratched at his arms as he pushed through them, as he had that night, as he had when he’d tried his dearest to escape the hell that was his castle.  

He found himself back in that clearing, his mark clearly made through the hole in the middle of the bramble bush, his skin was still torn and his blood stained the brambles tips.  

He collapsed down, holding his head down to his knees, tears streamed down his face, he was trapped, more so than before, and he could do  nothing  about his situation, he couldn’t just say he wanted to be rid of her, because why? What reason did he have? He couldn’t kill a nymph, not without finding her tree or drying her river.  

Footsteps, light and airy sounded behind him, then beside him, something soft cradled his back, feathers he realised, he lifted his tear covered face to find he was face to face with lord Hermes...again.  

He startled, hands wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks, he was at least wearing what he was meant to, he wasn’t in his bed clothes anymore, and for that he was grateful, the god had seen him in such a dishevelled state before, he’d hate for it to become habit.  

“lord Hermes! May i inquire as to why you have graced me with your presence?”  

His voice shook and his tears blurred his vision, still he tried his best to be respectful, he couldn’t earn the ire of a god, he had a family, no matter how much he found himself ignored, he had brothers, if he was killed chances were his family would be too.  

He couldn’t be more of a screwup.  

“well, your crying was just SO loud i could hear it all the way from olympus!”  

He doubted that, he doubted that quite heavily, and yet the lie was sweet, compared to the idea that the god had decided he had in fact offended him last week at least. He laughed in response, letting his legs hit the grass softly, sitting back normally, if he was going to be talking to Hermes he wouldn’t do it so pathetically.  

“see! Now this is what I'm talking about, at least you get my jokes, and you’re a mortal! Its all ‘Hermes stop stealing my cows’ ‘Hermes stop lying to the mortals’ up there! Its much better over here with you!”  

His cheeks ran a bright red at Hermes’s words, he hated it, the way that a smile threatened to pull his lips apart, to split them and show the god before him the mess that was his gums, his frayed muscles, torn from upholding a smile once so fake now so real.  

“i’m glad i can be of some amusement to you lord Hermes”  

His voice came out just as shaky as before, and his words just as pathetic as he felt, and yet as he lay his eyes upon the god, the one who’d abandoned his petasos he found himself utterly smitten, his heart thrumming oddly in his chest, far too fast, as if he were running from a threat, which the god may very well have been.  

“now what are you doing out here anyway?”  

Crocus blinked, he hadn’t expected that, perhaps the god had some form of message for him? Something that would hinge upon why he was out here? Or more likely, Crocus was providing the winged god some form of entertainment.  

He couldn’t lie to him. No matter how much he wanted to lie to the god he knew Hermes would catch him on it, and Crocus didn’t have the energy for that, to explain why he’d lied, it would hurt speaking of wounds so fresh, but it would hurt less than to lie to the god.  

“well, its rather cowardly but I've been avoiding my...avoiding Smilax”  

He did not want to let Hermes knew he was married, though he knew the god would find out one way or another, the truth was easier to tell then a lie. He was sure Hermes would disagree and that was simply another reason that the god could not have been here by choice for any reason but pity.  

“and who is this Smilax to you?”  

He sighed, he wanted to flop backwards onto the grass, have the ground consume him whole, but such a wish would not come to pass, not even if he prayed to Gaia herself, mother of titans, earth personified.  

He would sit here and speak his woes to a god wholly unprepared to help him, he wondered idly if he had done something to upset the god to earn such awful luck, to find himself trapped in so many ways.  

“my wife. Though i didn’t wish to marry her.”  

His voice came out quieter than he had wanted it to, he hadn’t even wanted to let Hermes know, know the pain that surged in his chest when he looked upon Smilax’s face, the large doe eyes, the way she fawned over him, the attention unwanted yet unavoidable.  

Hermes stayed silent for a few seconds, they sat, though the silence was uncomfortable on Crocus’s end he could find no reason in his soul that Hermes would stay with him if he did not wish to.  

It was wildly confusing.  

Something brushed against his shoulder, and turning his head, he found that Hermes was sporting two extra wings, larger than life, tipped with gold as if he’d bathed them in ichor. He turned to face the god, he looked...less than human.  

His eyes were black now, pupils a wild gold, he sported no ears but wings that sprouted from where they should have been instead, his neck was wildly covered in the feathers that spanned his wings, his nails sharp.  

“i figured if your being vulnerable i may as well be too”  

The god explained, his voice oddly warm, Crocus tipped his head confused, he had not been vulnerable, not that he could think of, not in a way that would warrant this, and yet here Hermes was, looking far less than human.  

“i don’t think i was being too vulnerable lord Hermes, certainly not in a way that warrants you showing me...this”  

The god laughed, his soft wings beating with him, lightly hitting against Crocus’s back, his laugh was loud and shrill and everything that Crocus would have been punished for, it was so mortal that if Crocus had closed his eyes and focused he could have believed that it was a sound coming from a mortal.  

Even that thought process must have been sacrilegious, blasphemous, all sorts of wrong, and so he would keep his thoughts to himself, even if he was sure the god would have laughed with him.  

“Darling you told me about a wife you clearly didn’t want, that i would call being Vulnerable”  

He turned his head away from Hermes to hide the rising blush that dusted his cheeks, he clutched the grass tighter in his hands,  darling  a god had called him Darling, sure it was a stupid pet name, one the god clearly meant nothing by, but Crocus could not help but melt at it.  

“well! I've been on break long enough, and i certainly do not get breaks darling, so I'd best be off, I'm sure I'll see you back here again soon”  

Hermes was back to floating when Crocus looked at him, the god ruffled his hair before disappearing in a puff of feathers, one of which fell into Crocus’s lap, perfectly as if it was intended to.  

He picked it up, his fingers moving deftly as he tied the feather tightly into his hair, hanging down just above his collarbones.  

When Smilax asked he’d just say he thought the feather was pretty, it wasn’t a lie.  

Chapter 4: chapter 3

Notes:

sorry i didn't update last wednesday! got REALLY sick and slept through most of the week!

Crocus was not ashamed to say he’d dressed himself up best as he could the next day, donning his best chiton, though he’d left his himation in favour of a decorational gorget and golden arm cuffs.  

He'd rushed out of the castle as Apollo’s chariot began climbing the skies, hardly visible behind clouded skies, and Artemis’s chariot still descending. He'd never once had reason to be awake so early, not of his own volition, most often he’d find himself awoken by servants, for training of all kinds, though he’d never been great with sports.  

Perhaps Hermes  Krateros strong willed, bringer of luck and other such epithets would assist him, though the thought was far-fetched and one he’d hate to entertain he could not deny that he was excited, perhaps far too much, to see Hermes once more.  

The sun brought upon Sparta quickly as he ducked through the city, its stone floors slowly giving way to the forest, the dirt beneath his sandals a comforting presence, the thick heavy weight of rain soon to reach Sparta a reminder, a comfort of sorts.  

Nobody was ever out during rain. Nobody was so desperate to sell wares, at least Crocus had never seen anybody so desperate. The trees did not scratch him this time, not when he took his time to duck beneath their overhead branches, and to sidle between thick crowds of trees.  

Not nearly as scratched up as he had been the first time he’d seen Hermes, nor the second, he found himself far more presentable, though any sense of presentability was washed away upon seeing Hermes again.  

He did not wear the skin of an almost mortal as he had before, no he was still a man covered in feathers, with wings wide open, draped over the grass as he laid on his back on the grassy field.  

Crocus couldn’t help but blush upon looking at him, he stood for a few seconds, staring at the feathery body of the love he could never have, before walking over, sitting down beside him, Hermes’s wings shot up wildly, before disappearing, his eyes staring into Crocus’s before he laughed.  

“Wow darling! You really snuck up on me! Be glad I'm not Ares, my brother would have torn your arm off by now!”  

Crocus rolled his eyes, though he knew Hermes’s words to be very true. He didn’t know much about Hermes’s family, but he knew they were not nice people to be around, if all the legends he’d heard were true.   

“well i for one wouldn’t be meeting you if you were Lord Ares, Lord Hermes”  

Hermes rolled his eyes and ruffled Crocus’s hair, pushing his head down lightly. brushing his hair out of his face he looked at Hermes confused, the god brought his legs up to his knees, Crocus tried not to stare at his very well-toned calves.  

“stop calling me ‘Lord Hermes’ we’re friends! Its just Hermes for friends silly”  

He smiled, though blush ran up his cheeks, burning his ears.  Friends.  With a god. It was insane, crazy even. If he was no smarter a man he’d wonder if Dionysus Mainolês had cursed him, cursed him with madness. Though the madness Crocus exhibited was more Aphrodite's speed.  

Perhaps he had upset the both of them and was paying the price for it.  

If he was it was a very lacklustre curse, sure his heart felt as if it were to burst forth from his chest, and his lungs felt as if vines were clutching them tight preventing from breathing, but those were all normal for him when he fancied a man.  

“paint a vase it’ll last you longer”  

Hermes said, a dumb grin on his face, Crocus was not sure how it was even physically possible, but his cheeks heated up a ruby more red than his cheeks already were upon hearing Hermes’s words, he spluttered out a half laugh half confused whine.  

“ahah, i do not think you could sit still long enough for me to pain a vase that captures your Essense L- Hermes"  

Calling a god their name so informally was so unusual, he was sure that the god before him would laugh his bell toll laugh, his beautifully wicked smile would split his lips and then Crocus would be dead upon the floor they laid in, instead Hermes smiled a bit wider, and if Crocus was a lesser man he’d swear that the gods cheeks were a bit more golden.  

“ah thats true, i do have boundless beauty”  

Hermes spoke dramatically, his eyes curved into beautiful crescent moons, his golden gaze lovelier than any other god. He was aware the thought was sacrilegious and yet he could not help but think it, for what god could exceed the beauty of the one before him.  

“i’m very lucky to see a fraction of that boundless beauty”  

He spoke before he could think, it seemed he did that more often around the god, running his mouth and making a fool of himself. This time he could not deny that Hermes’ cheeks ran a gold so precious that he’d consider real gold worth nothing beside it, and the god had no response for him, simply placing his hand over Crocus’s.  

The peaceful silence in which they lay was broken by a shrill scream, followed by Hermes kicking himself backwards, Crocus looked up in a panic, to see not Hermes hurt, gods forbid Hermes ever get hurt, instead the god was wrestling with his Talaria, dropping them on the ground beside Crocus.  

He could not help but feel a bit flattered, for this meant surely the god trusted him, trusted him with his holy Talaria a trust that was not given to all mortals he was sure. He squinted looking into the sandals, no needles nor daggers had materialised to justify such horror upon Hermes’s face.  

“THERE ARE SPIDERS IN MY SANDALS”  

Again Crocus laughed, not the practiced laugh that had been beaten into him, but a loud one, one that if any prince were to be seen laughing so loudly, they’d have surely be whipped into shape.  

“Hermes, would you like me to get the little fiends out of your Talaria?”  

He asked, voice slightly mocking. He knew it was dangerous to mock a god, especially one of Hermes’s calibre, a god that could easily do away with him in a quick flick of his Cadecus, and yet he found himself doing what he was not allowed to do.  

“YES, yes if you could that would be lovely”  

He laughed again, and took the Talaria in his hands, the small white wings upon the sandals being so still felt so odd to him, everything about Hermes was moving, constantly, his hair in a breeze that existed for none but him, his hands as he gestured, his lovely lips as he spoke.  

He took a leaf from the ground and held it out over the Talaria’s sole, letting clusters of spiders, all far too small to be a danger to any mortal, much less a god, climb onto the leaf. Slowly he deposited them, batch by batch until he held the Talaria free of Spiders.  

“Here you go, one pair of spider free Talaria”  

Hermes sighed, the exhale could have been relief that Crocus hadn’t proven a threat to the gods prized Talaria, or one of joy that the spiders no longer plagued his sandals, either way it was endearing.  

The god took the sandals from his hands, his fingers brushing against Crocus's, the touch feather light and painfully brief, Hermes slipped his sandals back on, though he did not descend to the field to sit beside Crocus as he had before.  

“i cannot fathom how you are okay with sitting there, there are spiders Crocus, SPIDERS”  

Crocus raised an eyebrow, looking up at the god, he floated above him, though he was sure that if Crocus was allowed to see, he’d find that Hermes’s wings were beating above him, keeping him afloat.  

“don’t know if you’ve noticed, but i don’t have any fancy Talaria, nor do i have wings, i kind of have to be on the floor Hermes”  

His voice was tinged with amusement, and for once he did not feel terrified that Hermes would strike him down, how could he when Hermes looked at him so fondly, when his eyes were so lovely, how could he be killed by a god so lovely.  

It was far too dangerous a thought process to entertain and yet he had to for what else was he to do with the warmth in his soul? The way his face lit up on seeing the god, was he meant to ignore it? Push Hermes away. Most certainly, but Crocus was just a man and he could not bring himself to do so.  

“welllll i could take you for a fly!”  

The idea of being held in Hermes’s arms was indeed very appealing to him, having his arms looped around Hermes’s neck, watching the ground drift away would be lovely, but he knew he would not be quiet after that, not when such ideas would make him squeal like a girl soon to be married, when such ideas would only make him ache for Hermes more.  

“and risk you dropping me? Maybe some other time Hermes, for now I've got to get home”  

He didn’t want to. But he could not dare stay for Hermes would insist and insist and he knew he would give easily to that smile, so Crocus had to leave, had to watch the disappointment fan Hermes’s face.  

“fineeeeeeeeeeee I'll take you flying someday you just wait! Come back tomorrow! Bye!”  

With that Crocus went practically skipping back home, his smile wide, his spirits far too high to be broken.