[As Hythlodaeus approached, Hades watched with clear uncertainty in his eyes, his breath caught in his throat with anticipation of what was to come. Little did he expect those large, warm hands to cup his face so, to be held so gently, so lovingly. Yet, somehow the surprise melts away into knowing. That he should have expected otherwise was folly, and so just as swiftly as Hythlodaeus approached, did he submit to the familiar and comforting feel of him.

His words, however, stir far more conflicted emotions than he knows what to do with. The wary look behind his eyes, the hurt and torment of burden and isolation, the seclusion that has worn him down over the eons. All of it is so plain in his features, in how he leans into that touch, how when Hythlodaeus places his forehead against his own his hands reach out to curl into gentle fistfuls of Hythlodaeus' yukata. The shaky, needy grip that incriminates the fragility of his very being over such an arduous journey to fix that which was broken.

There is so much he wishes he could do in this moment, yet he is well aware that he cannot. Well aware of the self-imposed restrictions, and he's cursing himself for it, yet knowing it's necessary. All of it. Necessary. That's what he continues to tell himself, that's what continues to push him forward. His jaw tightens, and he swallows thickly, his throat feels dry, and his voice seemingly absent.

Yet, he still wills it into existence.]

...I have forgotten how. Or, perhaps, I never learned. Not truly. It has been a long path, my love. But should I lose momentum, should I stop even to lighten the load, I fear it will all be for naught.

I do not concern myself with my own peace, I am well beyond that, and should death's sweet embrace not quell the raging tempest in my soul, I well believe it worth the sacrifice to right the wrongs of antiquity.

You will have to forgive me, but I believe myself beyond the benefit of such respite.