Improbable Cause (An S4J Bonus Story)

Chapter V

When Hermes returned to it that night, the penthouse was suspiciously still, and also suspiciously clean. Every throw pillow on the couch was fluffed and set against the cushions at perfect angles. The kitchen counter had been polished to the point Hermes could see his reflection in it. There was not a single speck of crumb or dust on the floor and the back windows had been swiped clean of streaks and fingerprints. A diffuser funneled lavender scent into the air; apart from the lack of sun, Hermes could close his eyes and inhale and find himself transported to a botanical garden.

All of this was more than enough evidence of the state he was bound to find Conny in. Instantly, Hermes regretted not going with him.

Hermes collapsed onto the end of the couch to undo his shoes. "Con?" he called.

There was no answer, but he heard the sputter and hiss of a shower head kicking on. Leaving his shoes where they were, Hermes followed the noise down the hall and through their bedroom and to the shut bathroom door. He considered knocking, then decided against it.

He walked into a mouthful of minty steam and an earful of hot water sound and ambient angry screamo rap courtesy of Rico Nasty. Hermes found the portable speaker where it nestled against the sink faucet and leaned over, clicking it off.

A contemplative pause. Conny said slowly, "Herm?"

"No, this is a serial killer," Hermes called, raising his voice to be heard over the running water. "Do you have any preference as to where you'd like to be stabbed tonight, sir?"

"Hello, Hermes."

Hermes scoffed. It wouldn't kill him to play along one of these days. "Hi, Conny," he said, sitting down on top of the toilet and starting to shuck off his socks. "Do you wanna tell me what happened?"

"You—" Conny cut off with an explosive sigh and Hermes heard the squeak of his feet against the wet tiles. "I don't—I don't have the fucking words yet. You go first. Did you manage to make Zeus shut up?"

"The universe appears to still be in existence, doesn't it?" Hermes's shirt went next, and he stood up again. "I'm here, you're here. So I think so."

"About how many of these tantrums does he throw, usually?"

Pants, underwear. Hermes left his clothes in a pile and nudged them into the corner. "Maybe three."

"Yearly?"

Hermes opened the shower door and slipped inside between Conny and the shower head, hot water kissing his back. "Monthly."

Conny's face was cool, calculating. Hermes watched it betray him and turn bright red anyway.

"Herm," Conny said, his voice as close and clinging as the steam. "What are you doing in here?"

"I got tired of yelling," he said. He held his hand up to catch a pool of water, then dribbled it over Conny's head. Conny's hair was already wet, hanging limp over his forehead, a darker golden brown when it was this soaked through. "And not looking at you."

What a pleasure it was to look at him, all of him, quite literally stripped bare of his turtlenecks and his shoe polish and his hair gel and all the other things Conny was convinced made him presentable to the world. Here, pink-faced and with water caught in his eyelashes and thin streams rushing over his shoulders and his collarbones like a river headed down the mountain, he was perfectly undone and perfectly put together.

Hermes liked this version of him. He liked it quite a bit.

"Are you cramped?" Hermes asked, smiling, swiping his thumb over Conny's lips. "I can go if you want. It is a bit steamy in here."