Headdresshipping (Priest Mahad/Priest Set)

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((trigger warning for mentions of self-harm))

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Set hated everything about him.

He had hated him from the moment he had met the soft-spoken magician. Hated the way that he had kept dropping his eyes almost demurely away from all the other nobles, even though the sacred item around his neck technically made him out rank almost everyone in this godsdamned palace.

He hated the way that he just blew out with exasperation at whatever newest exploit that his apprentice had gotten herself into. The way that he just shook his head and tiredly explained to her over and over again that no, dropping fish on the heads of people you don't like was not acceptable. Hated the way that he just chuckled whenever Set came to him in irritation to report what newest pile of horseshit Mana had gotten the prince into. How he would always just smile and shake his head and say "you can't tell me you never got into any 'horseshit' when you were their age."

He hated the way that he would never speak louder than a firm tone, even in court. Even when someone shouted at him, a red-faced merchant official who demanded to know how his goods had been stolen from the palace courtyard and insisting that Mahad, as the head of palace security, was responsible for their compensation, Mahad never rose to the bait. His gaze never wavered, his voice never rose. Even when people called him vile names, names that should have gotten them at the very least imprisoned for their insolence to a high priest, he didn't even flinch.

He hated how he walked, that soft-footed, silent, graceful step that made him look like a jackal. Hated his eyes, always calm and placid, and his smile, a quiet thing that barely twitched the corners of his face and sent a faint sparkle into his eye that was barely visible unless you know how to look.

He hated how he would find him asleep in the library, sprawled over documents that should have been someone else's job to do, and Set would grumble curses under his breath as he dragged Mahad's cloak over his shoulders. Mahad would never listen, either, when he woke up to find Set leaning on the desk and telling him that this was the kind of job for the lower scribes to be doing.

He hated the way that Mahad hadn't questioned anything when he had walked in on Set with his usually ever present bracers removed, hadn't said a word as he turned Set's bloody arm towards him. How his face hadn't changed as he gently drew a finger over the cuts, sealing them away with just the faint tickle of magic. How when Set had told him that he didn't want his help, he had only turned his own arm up towards Set and pushed the bracer back to reveal the long healed scars underneath. How his eyes had held no pity—no sadness, no anger. Only understanding.

He hated him. He hated everything about him. He always had—he always would. Nothing would change that.

Set pressed his forehead to the cold stone, ran his fingers over the relief of the magician engraved there.

"I hate you," he whispered, lips to the freezing tablet, without the warm of Mahad's hands. "I hate you."

For a moment, he almost thought he could feel his hands on his shoulders, feel his breath against his neck as the magician pressed his head to the back of Set's. Felt the faint breath of his fingers as they ghosted over his cheeks to wipe the tears away.

"I know," was the only reply.

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A/N: …watch me start to ship everything now lol. Next is Hateshipping (Atem/Yami Bakura).