The problem, Hermes quickly discovered, was that nothing about the situation was remotely… exciting.
He tried to will himself into the right state, squeezing his eyes shut, thinking of literally anything else.
Sunshine, triumph, victory speeches. He even tried remembering the last time he actually felt proud of himself, but the memory was blurry at best. Nothing worked.
"This isn't working," he groaned, sinking lower against the wall.
His palms were damp, his face hot, and the absurdity of it all only made it worse.
"Maybe you're overthinking it, Brother Modi. Let your natural instincts take over." Magni suggested, crouched with his chin on his hand, studying him like a puzzle.
"I'm literally trying not to think about it," Hermes hissed, muffled through his fingers.
Ymir groaned, pushing himself to his feet despite the way his injured arm trembled. "Move. You're hopeless."
His voice was flat, but there was the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
