Hades opened the door looking just so much more tired than he normally did at this time of day. He made a beeline for the liquor cabinet and poured himself four fingers of whiskey, shook out a couple of pills from a bottle, and threw it all down the hatch. He turned around to face Prometheus spilled out on the couch and the papers littering the floor.

“Why, good afternoon, love of my life and bane of my existence. I see you’ve graded your finals. Would you like to know how my finals testing period went?” And without waiting a beat, “Very bad. I have to hold a make up exam tomorrow because I couldn’t get enough of my students to stop crying. So, in the interest of everyone, I will be throwing those away now.”

And then he did actually stoop to the floor to start gathering them up. He was dressed as he always was: sharp, fashionable, and looking like the moneyed man that he was. Of course, he had earned everything that he had these days. He was the chair of his department, and through yearly arm twisting, Prometheus’ class stayed mandatory. It was Hades’ arm that was twisted, of course. The biology department ensured that they only had to deal with him for four classes out of the year which was really still straining them.

(“Well, he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” the biology chair asked with tired desperation. “You deal with him.”)