Chapter Text
Even before entering the room, Hermes could hear the faint rhythms of Orpheus’s voice, those soft little ‘laaa la lalalala laa’s’, but they didn’t carry the same passion they once did. The boy had the tune right, which was a given considering the amount of time he’d spent repeating it, but the melody was missing its warmth. Orpheus’s voice was strained, stumbling occasionally, and it only got clearer once Hermes opened the door.
Orpheus was hunched over in his chair, his lyre propped up next to him, and plucking at it with unsteady fingers. The boy had his back to Hermes, but judging by his shaggy, unwashed hair and oil-smeared clothes, Eurydice was right about the extent at which he’d neglected his own care.
Hermes walked up to his side, maintaining a length of distance, just to see if he’d notice him. He called out to him, dragging out the words.
“Hey, poet boy. Long time no see.”
“H-Hermes,” Orpheus startled a little, his hands slipping on the strings. He turned to look at him, and Hermes could have winced. The boy looked downright exhausted, face pale from lack of sunlight, and heavy bags under his eyes. There had been times in the past he’d overworked himself, trying to earn enough coins to get by in the harshest winters, but this was another level.
“Well, no wonder your poor wife is worried,” Hermes said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “She said you ain’t been eating or sleeping, and when you do sleep, it ain't even in bed with her.”
“S-she told you that?” Orpheus asked weakly, looking up at his mentor in confusion. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here on her request, and I s’ppose because I had to see for myself.”
“I’m fine, and it’s almost finished, you know how important it is–”
“I know that as well as anybody, brother, but that ain’t the only thing that’s important. How do you expect to make a song that brings spring back, when you yourself look and sound like you’re on the verge of heading down under, hm?”
“I can still get the melody right…” Orpheus swallowed, looking away from his piercing gaze. He bore shocking resemblance to how he’d looked as a much younger boy, just entering his teens, when he’d gotten scolded for spilling a patron’s drink. Hermes wasn’t even frustrated then, but now, he felt it thrumming through him. Not true anger, but exasperation, at how the boy couldn’t see what he was putting himself through, or just didn’t care. It hurt to see.
“Your wife misses you, and she’s been sleeping in a cold bed because you refuse to give yourself a soft place to lay. Because you’re working yourself to the bone, and working your own throat hoarse. Orpheus, what’s going on?”
He knew he sounded stern, but sometimes that’s the only thing that could get through Orpheus’s skull.
“I’m fine,” Orpheus mumbled, bowing his head and pulling at his fingers. “I know it– it’s not good for Eurydice, but I just need to…”
“It’s not good for you, either.” Hermes pointed out, looking down at his hands and noticing the red creases on the pads of his fingers. That prompted him to think of the other thing, and his voice softened when he spoke next.
“Eurydice told me you’d been hurting yourself.”
Orpheus winced, his face tightening and his small frame jutting as if he’d been struck. “I’m fine,” he repeated again, but it lacked conviction.
Hermes sighed, stepping closer to him and putting one hand on his shoulder, rubbing the rough fabric slightly. “You know that’s not a good habit.”
“I know. I- I didn’t mean to start again, it was an accident at first and I just… it’s so hard to think sometimes. It clears my head.”
“I understand, but causing yourself more harm ain’t the answer– you gotta face the stress sooner or later.”
“I’ll stop after the song is completed, I swear. I can stop.” Orpheus finally looked up at him, and he looked so young that Hermes felt his stomach twist a little. Sometimes he forgot just how naive the boy was, how young, especially in comparison to Hermes’ infinite age. It was hard to reckon with how much of the world was out of his control, how many times he’d have to step back and allow Orpheus to struggle on his own to find his own footing in the world.
Still, there were times he would need an intervention, and Hermes had made himself a promise to try to guide him if he was ever astray.
Clearly, he’d been a little late this time.
“Orpheus,” he said, tightening his grip on his shoulder. “You need’a listen to me. You need to take a break. At least ease up a little, talk to your wife, talk to me. Then you can come back and finish your masterpiece with a fresh mind.”
“But nobody is goin’ to work on it while I’m not–”
“Nobody is gonna push your progress backwards, either. It’ll be here waiting for you.” Hermes took Orpheus’s arm and led him to his feet, the boy’s legs shaking slightly. He knew Orpheus would always stand on his own, but sometimes he wishes he’d let himself lean on someone else, let them carry the burden, just a little.
“But what if…” Orpheus trailed off, looking exhausted at even the prospect of mentioning all the possible negative outcomes. It seemed he’d run through them all in his head countless times, using them to spur himself on.
“There’s no ‘what if’ that takes precedence over you being alright.” Hermes said. “Yes, you gotta finish the song, but, you don’t gotta shut everyone else out while you do.”
Orpheus opened his mouth as if to argue, to insist that he was alright, but seemed to think better of it. He may have been able to reassure and dismiss Eurydice’s concern for months, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to Hermes, not when the man was looking straight through him. Not when he knew the God didn’t show genuine concern unless he had good reason to.
“... Okay.”
“So you’ll do what I suggest?” Hermes asked, raising one hand to ruffle and smooth his dusty brown hair a little, musing he should also suggest a good, long bath, but deciding to save that for a later conversation. That was another that Eurydice would appreciate, especially if he went back to sleeping in their bed.
“I… I’ll try.”
“Good. And I hope you’ll stop injuring yourself, too, or at least tell someone about it."
A shameful look crossed Orpheus's face, as if he’d forgotten about it until now. He was quiet for a heartbeat, and when he spoke, his voice was so small it was almost invisible. “Are you upset with me?”
“No, Orpheus, I’m not.”
“Is– is Eurydice upset with me?” Somehow he looked and sounded even more broken, a new look of worry spreading across his face.
“She’s not happy, because she’s worried about you, and these are hard times already. You’ve been giving all of us reason to worry. But she’s not mad at you,” Hermes brought his hand down to cup the back of the boy’s neck. “It’ll be a’ight. You just gotta take care of yourself, and then you can take care of everyone else.”
Orpheus nodded quickly, his mouth tight, and for a moment, Hermes thought he was going to shed tears, but he didn’t. He just stepped back from Hermes, brushing his hands against his apron to straighten it. He glanced back at his desk, as if on instinct, then looked back at Hermes.
“I’ll try.”
He cracked a smile, the first one he'd given him in months. “That’s my boy.”