"I missed you, too," he agrees. Even if he often only saw Hermes in passing, delivering a message or a straggling shade, they could still exchange a few pleasantries or a borderline-flirtatious joke—one that's easy enough to dismiss as professional camaraderie. The mere sight of Hermes gave him a bright jolt of energy, like a sunbreak on a gloomy day that shocks the eyes and warms the skin.

"Let's both swear off risky decisions for a wh—" Achilles' thought is cut short by a knock at the door, and it's as if one of Zeus' bolts has struck him. He drops the apple he was still holding with a dull thunk, and takes an instinctive backwards step, but Hermes' fingers are still tangled in his hair. He winces and raises his hands to Hermes' wrists.

"E-excuse me, Mr. Hermes, sir!" Dusa's nervous voice barely makes it through the thick door. "Uh, room service?"

The brief panic abates a bit, knowing Dusa is both too polite and too shy to simply float into an Olympian's quarters. Achilles gives Hermes an apologetic smile, muttering, "Ah. Forgot I'd asked for food and drink to be sent ..."