Chapter Text
The sneezing started getting significantly worse about a week later on a Thursday.
Odysseus had just finished walking an elderly woman through resetting her router—"yes, the one with the blinking lights, no, that's supposed to blink"—when the tickle hit the back of his throat with all the subtlety of a freight train at 3 AM. He barely managed to mute himself before sneezing four times in rapid succession.
"Sorry about that," he said, unmuting and clearing his throat. "Now, can you check if the light on the lower left hand side is solid green for me?"
By lunch, he'd gone through half a box of tissues and earned concerned looks from two coworkers who passed his desk. The throat irritation had settled in like an unwelcome houseguest, persistent and impossible to ignore.
Allergies. Had to be. Spring was in full swing, and the city was drowning in pollen. He'd need to pick up some Claritin on the way home, or maybe schedule an appointment with his doctor for a new allergy panel. Something had clearly changed in his body's reaction to the seasonal assault.
His phone buzzed against his desk. A text from Marcus.
|Marcus|: Look what I found cleaning out my photo gallery
The attached image loaded slowly, and Odysseus felt his stomach drop. It was from last year's holiday party—Hermes draped across Odysseus's side on the break room couch, flushed and grinning with alcohol-loosened inhibitions, one arm slung around Odysseus's shoulders. Odysseus looked simultaneously fond and exasperated in the photo, caught mid-eye-roll at something Hermes had apparently just said.
Another text followed immediately:
|Marcus|: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Odysseus typed a response to the smug bastard quickly, saying:
|Odysseus|: That's an old picture, Marcus.
|Marcus|: Doesn't make it less adorable
|Odysseus|: He was drunk. You literally had to pour him into an Uber afterward.
|Marcus|: And u volunteered to be his emotional support human for the entire evening. So selfless of u
|Marcus|: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Odysseus was saved from responding by another knock at his door. This time it was actually Hermes, looking unfairly put-together despite it being nearly noon on a Thursday.
"Lunch?" Hermes asked, not waiting for an answer as he leaned against the doorframe. "I'm thinking that Greek place on Seventh. The one with the good spanakopita."
Odysseus should say no. Should claim he'd brought lunch, had too much work, needed to run errands. Instead, he found himself saving his progress and reaching for his jacket.
"Sure. Let me just—" He sneezed again, turning away from Hermes. "Sorry. Allergies."
Hermes frowned slightly. "You've been sneezing a lot lately."
"Spring," Odysseus said, as if that explained everything. "I'm going to pick up some antihistamines after work. Worst allergies I've had for years"
The walk to the restaurant was pleasant despite the pollen count. Hermes kept up a steady stream of commentary about their morning—a disastrous meeting with accounting, an email chain that had spiraled into chaos, the ongoing saga of the third-floor coffee machine which apparently required parts that were no longer manufactured.
"I suggested they just declare it dead and hold a funeral," Hermes said, holding the restaurant door open. "But apparently that's 'not how corporate asset management works.'"
"Tragic," Odysseus said, breathing in the scent of lemon and herbs as they entered.
The place was small, family-owned, with blue and white tiles and soft Greek music playing overhead. They'd been here enough times that the owner nodded in recognition, gesturing them toward a table by the window.
They ordered quickly—spanakopita for Hermes, while Odysseus ordered moussaka, and they shared an order of dolmades because Hermes insisted they couldn't not get them. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Odysseus's occasional sniffles and the comfortable silences of people who didn't need to fill every moment with noise.
Hermes was telling a story about his morning commute, complete with dramatic hand gestures, when an older woman at the neighboring table caught Odysseus's eye. She smiled, warm and genuine, before leaning slightly toward them.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, her voice carrying a slight accent. "But you two are just lovely together. I wish I had a lover like that—someone who looks at me the way you look at each other."
Odysseus felt his face heat. He opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure if he was going to correct her or just thank her, but Hermes spoke first.
"Thank you," Hermes said smoothly, that easy smile never faltering. "That's very kind."
The woman beamed and returned to her own meal, and Odysseus found himself staring at his plate, acutely aware of the assumption she'd made. That they were together. That they were in love.
Hermes didn't correct her. Didn't laugh it off or clarify that they were just friends—best friends. He'd just accepted the compliment and moved on.
Odysseus didn't ask why. He knew, logically, that it was simply easier. Why ruin a polite stranger's day by awkwardly explaining that "no, actually, we're just friends"? Why create discomfort where none was needed? It was a kindness, really, to let her keep her pleasant assumption.
That's what Odysseus told himself, anyway, as they finished their lunch and Hermes insisted on picking up the check despite Odysseus's protests.
"You can get the next one," Hermes said, pocketing his wallet. "Besides, you bought last time."
Had he? Odysseus honestly couldn't remember. Their lunches had started blending together into a pleasant routine he'd stopped tracking.
The walk back to the office was quieter. Odysseus's throat felt raw, the irritation worse after eating. He'd definitely need to stop by the pharmacy. Maybe schedule that doctor's appointment just to be safe.
Hermes paused at the building entrance, turning to face him. "You okay? You seem tired."
"I'm fine," Odysseus said automatically. "Just my allergies."
"Right." Hermes didn't look entirely convinced, but he let it drop. "Don't forget—tomorrow. Bowling. I'll pick you up at seven."
"I haven't forgotten."
"Good." Hermes's smile was softer now, less smug and more genuine. "See you tomorrow, Ody."
Odysseus watched him head toward the elevators, one hand touching his throat absently. Just allergies. Nothing that Claritin and time wouldn't fix.
He almost believed it.