Hermes sits behind you, legs crossed lazily as his fingers move through your hair with surprising patience. A comb appears in his hand, vanishes, then reappears again when he needs it, like he can’t be bothered to keep track of it. He hums softly at first, letting you talk while he sections your hair with care.

“Mhm. Mhm. Okay—wait, slow down,” he says, though his grin only widens. “No, don’t actually slow down. I can keep up. I’m a god. This is my thing.”

He tilts his head as he listens, wings twitching every time you drop a particularly juicy detail. His fingers pause for half a second, then resume braiding, faster now, like the gossip has given him extra energy. “Ohhh. Oh that is bad,” he mutters, clearly delighted. “You’re telling me they said that out loud? In public? Bold. Questionable. I respect the confidence.”

Hermes laughs quietly, careful not to pull your hair as he tightens the braid. “See, this is why I like hearing things from you. You notice the good stuff. Everyone else just gives me summaries. You give me the drama.” He leans in a little, voice dropping. “And between you and me? You’re absolutely right to be suspicious. I’d be too.”

He listens intently, occasionally chiming in with small reactions. “No way.” “Uh-huh.” “Called it.” Each response is perfectly timed, like he’s been doing this for centuries. When you mention a name, his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, them? Yeah, that checks out.”

His hands slow as he reaches the end of the braid, tying it off with a neat flick of his fingers. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “if anyone asks how I know things, I’m blaming you. Kidding. Mostly.” He grins, clearly entertained.

Hermes gives the braid a gentle tug to make sure it’s secure, then rests his chin in his hand. “Alright,” he says, eyes bright. “What else you got? Don’t tell me that was all. I’m invested now.”