Chapter Text
Standing alone under a canopy of constellations, Orpheus clutched his lyre, its strings silent, a contradiction to his tumultuous thoughts. The winds carried the scent of wildflowers—Eurydice’s essence—taunting him with her absence. His voice broke the stillness, raw as the notes he dared not play.
"How cruel is fate to gift me music that moves the heavens, yet leaves me unworthy of the mortal heart I crave? My melodies sway gods and rivers, but they pale beside the whisper of her laughter. Eurydice, the sun warms the earth at your bidding, and the moon borrows its glow to light your path. How can my mortal hands, however deft, dare to reach for a being shaped by stars?
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Chapter 7: When Orpheus Felt Unworthy
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The coffee shop buzzed with its usual morning energy—murmurs of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the occasional clatter of a mug on the counter. Morgan stood in line, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as she scanned the menu overhead, even though her order never changed.
She wasn’t paying much attention to the people in front of her until a snippet of their conversation caught her ear.
“Honestly, I still can’t believe they gave it to Greg,” one of them says disappointedly, a woman with glasses in a sharp red blazer. “That presentation was all Avery’s work. She’s the one who pitched the idea in the first place.”
Morgan’s eyes flick toward the two employees standing near the condiment station, their voices just low enough to escape the general din of the café.
“Yeah, but she had to leave early that day, remember?” the younger lady in a lilac turtleneck shirt replies. “Something about an emergency, or... I don’t know. Anyway, Greg stepped in and presented it. Guess he got lucky.”
“Lucky?” The woman scoffs, “He probably didn’t even credit her properly. Typical.”
Morgan’s breath hitched as realization dawned, the pieces clicking into place like a puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. Avery left early that day.
The barista called her order, but Morgan didn’t move. Her mind reels back to the reading night—the rushed texts, the battery-powered lights, Avery arriving breathless but calm, ready to help. She’d brushed off Morgan’s thanks with a simple smile, never hinting at what she might’ve left behind.
She didn’t say anything.
Morgan’s stomach tightens as she grabs her coffee and leaves the shop, the voices of Avery’s co-workers still echoing in her head. The crisp morning air hits her like a wake-up call, but it doesn’t help settle the sudden storm of emotions.
She stops on the sidewalk, staring into her cup. Avery had sacrificed something important—something she’d worked hard for—to help Morgan. And she hadn’t even mentioned it.
Morgan’s chest aches with a mix of gratitude and guilt. She had been so caught up in her own worries that night, so wrapped up in making the event perfect, that she hadn’t stopped to think about what Avery might’ve been giving up to be there.
Why didn’t she say anything?
Avery’s voice comes back to her in memory, soft but firm: “It’s what friends do.”
Morgan swallows hard. She didn’t deserve it—Avery’s quiet, unspoken sacrifices. But now that she knows, she can’t just let it go.
The day seemed like a long wait for Morgan. Even the usual busy Wednesday and customers asking about the new releases were just unsuccessful distractions. Her mind is focused on the conversation she heard in the coffee shop and that she was the reason Avery missed an opportunity at work.
When the clock struck four, she hurriedly closed the bookstore. With a determined breath, Morgan started walking toward Avery’s workplace. She doesn’t know exactly what she is going to say, but she knows she needs to say something.
She arrived earlier than expected and sat by the concrete stairs on the facade of the building where Avery works, her mind still occupied by the predicament she’s been bothered with since morning.
It was only when an old cart full of flowers stopped in front of her. It looks like one of the wheels got stuck in the cracked cobblestone pavement. An old lady with a hunched frame appeared trying to push the cart. She was wrapped in a patchwork shawl, the faded colors hinting at years of use and countless mornings spent in the chill. The cart itself was a rustic, homemade contraption—a wooden base propped on mismatched wheels, its surface spilling over with small pots and loosely bundled flowers.
Seeing how the old lady struggles, Morgan immediately stands up, lifting the side of the cart where the wheel got stuck, pushing toward the more reliable part of the pavement.
“Oh, thank you, dear.” The old lady bows as she tries to roll her cart back and forth. “Fred’s wheels are acting up with this weather.”
“No worries, Ma’am. The side of this pavement needs repair.” Morgan says, bowing to reciprocate the respect. She notices the flowers in the cart and her thoughts are immediately brought back to Avery.
“You know what, I think I need some of these,” eyes wandering among the large selection of fresh blooms. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Mmm… let me see. Here.” She hands her a bunch of chamomile flowers. “You seem worried. This will bring you good luck and positive energy.”
“Oh, is that so?” She smiles, inspecting the flowers.
This looks simple but captivating, just like Avery
. “I guess, I’ll take it. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t bother, dear. It’s from me and Fred.” The old lady lets out a nostalgic smile.
“Thanks, but you should take this, please.” She insists, “It's hard to go around selling flowers in this weather.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine. I insist.” The old lady pushes back Morgan’s offer with a grateful smile.
“Well, thank you. At least, let me help you cross the road.” Morgan pushes the cart across the pedestrian lane. “Is Fred the name of your cart? He looks reliable.”
“Yes, I named him after my late husband. And this cart is as reliable as he was, a little too delinquent sometimes.”
They shared some wholesome laughs until they reached the other side of the road. “Thank you, dear. I hope you have a good day.”
“It’s Morgan.” she nods, making sure the cart is directed to a safe spot. “If you need some books, I have a store at the corner of 46th and Whitewood.”
“Alright then. I’m Ellie,” offering a handshake. “I’ll see you around, Morgan!” Effortlessly, the old lady walks away with her cart full of flowers.
Morgan looks at the chamomiles once again. She lets out a deep sigh and walks toward Avery’s office building, anticipating what would happen next.
Avery steps out of the glass doors, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her day had been long but productive, and she was already thinking about what book to recommend to Morgan once she arrived at the bookstore. To her surprise, she sees Morgan standing there, leaning casually against a lamppost, her arms crossed conserving the heat of her coat.
Morgan straightens when she spots Avery, a faint smile flickering across her face, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Avery notices it right away.
“Morgan?” Avery’s face lights up briefly, her tone laced with pleasant surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Morgan shrugs, her usual nonchalant demeanor in place, but there’s something tightly wound in the way she shifts her weight. “Thought I’d walk you to the bookstore. If you’re heading there, that is.”
“Sure,” Avery says, tilting her head. She starts walking, her steps lighter than usual—until she steals another glance at Morgan. The stiffness in her jaw, the way her eyes flicker like she’s sorting through a storm of thoughts—something’s off.
“What’s wrong?” Avery finally asks, her voice soft but concerned.
“Oh, these are for you.” Morgan reaches out for the bunch of chamomile inside her coat. She almost forgot about the flowers. “I got it from an old lady selling flowers here a while ago.”
“Well, thank you. What’s the occasion?” Avery asks, appreciating the dainty bundle of fresh flowers.
“Nothing.” Morgan smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She can’t mask away the thought that’s been bugging her all day.
Avery sees through it. She knows something is bothering her. “Hmm… Are you okay?”
Morgan doesn’t answer right away. They’re halfway down the street when she exhales sharply and stops, turning to face Avery.
“I heard something,” Morgan begins, her voice low and carefully measured. “At the coffee shop this morning. About you.”
Avery furrows her brows, confused. “What about me?”
“There were two women talking, I figured they were your co-workers because you wear the same lanyard. They talked about a big presentation,” Morgan continues, her eyes intently fixed on Avery’s. “An opportunity you didn’t get because you had to leave early for an... emergency.”
It clicks instantly for Avery, and her heart sinks. “Morgan—”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Morgan cuts her off, her tone sharper than she intended. But she tries to recover her calm, “You didn’t have to give that up for me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Avery insists, already sensing the guarded wall Morgan is starting to put up. Again.
“Then what was it like?” Morgan demands, her voice rising slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, you gave up something huge—something you’ve worked for—for a silly idea I had about a reading night.”
Avery takes a deep breath, trying to keep her calm. “It wasn’t silly to me. Those kids—Charlie—deserved it. And you were going through so much trying to make it work. I wanted to help.”
“But why?” Morgan’s voice cracks slightly, frustration bleeding into her words. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t ask you to.”
When Morgan’s voice cracked, the sound cut through Avery like a jagged edge, sharp and unexpected. She felt her heart lurch—not because of the frustration in Morgan’s tone, but because of the vulnerability hiding beneath it.
For a brief moment, Avery thought she saw the guarded walls Morgan so carefully maintained falter, revealing something raw and deeply buried. But as Morgan’s words settled, the sting of them hit her full force. I didn’t ask you to. It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one.
A quiet dismissal of everything Avery had done, everything she had felt in making that choice. Her chest tightened, a swirl of hurt and confusion bubbling to the surface.
Avery swallowed hard, trying to push down the ache rising in her throat. At that moment, all she could feel was the ache of giving something so freely, only to have it questioned, as if her care had been misplaced.
“That’s the thing, Morgan,” Avery snaps, unable to hold back anymore. “You never ask. You’ll do anything for me without a second thought, but the second I try to do something for you, you act like it’s some crime. It’s not fair!”
Morgan’s silence feels deafening. She looks away, her jaw tight as she struggles to process Avery’s words.
“I didn’t want anything in return,” Morgan finally talks back, her voice quieter now but no less guarded. “That’s not why I—”
“But maybe I do, Morgan!” Avery interrupts with a trembling voice. “Maybe I want to be there for you the way you’re always there for me. But you won’t let me. And that’s what’s unfair.”
Morgan’s lips part, but no words come out. She watches as Avery shakes her head, stepping back.
I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t want anything in return. Morgan’s words keep repeating in both their heads - Avery feeling unwanted, Morgan wanting to take back the words that she said.
"You can’t keep making me feel special and expect me not to react to it.” Avery continues, her voice quavers as her eyes begin to water. “I’m human, Morgan—I feel things, I react to actions. That’s what people do."
Before Morgan can respond, Avery turns and walks away, leaving Morgan standing there in the dim glow of the streetlights, her hands still stuffed in her coat pockets—empty, cold, and numb.