soft and fair

When Gale finished addressing the people of Tharsis on the balcony, January supposed they would be swept away from him to do important Consul things, and January would either totter off to admire the furnishings or, more likely, be swept into a grueling round of interviews of his own. So he was surprised when Gale graciously gestured him into the same room that he had woken up in — the door was held open by a helpful looking Praetorian, January tried not to shudder — and swept in behind him themself. They were alone, again. No staff, no cameras. Gale was beautiful in the indefinable way that January had seen in his colleagues after countless performances — it was never the makeup or the beautiful clothes, but the energy and adrenaline thrumming through a person who had accomplished something they were very, very good at. They were standing by the just-shut door, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, staring at January with disarming focus.

"Morning, Phaidros," Dionysus said, holding the door open for me and grinning. "Just the two of us for the time being." "Yes," I said, short even when I knew I shouldn't be. "Hopefully just for the time being." "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't want to spend time with me," Dionysus said, cheery. He hadn't put on his hat for his shift yet, and in defiance of the oppressive heat, to say nothing of company standards, his hair was down around his shoulders, looking soft and enticing. I should have said something about it, but he always came in with it down and always had it up neatly before we officially opened, and we didn't need one more thing to argue about. And also sometimes I caught a glimpse of his pretty hands sweeping his hair up off his long neck to tie it into whatever style it was that day. That shouldn't have mattered to me and I was probably being creepy and horrible, and definitely, definitely starting to lose the plot.