Chapter Text
The high-pitched whine of a train whistle pierces through the air.
Hermes runs his hands over the wooden tabletop, his fingers getting momentarily caught in the ridges before continuing their journey across the surface. He checks the clock on the wall; they should be back soon.
A year ain’t a long time for a god, just one out of ad infinitum , but Hermes has got to admit that it’s been far too quiet lately without hearing the girl’s recognisable drawl or the familiar sound of the boy’s harmonica playing. Gods , Hermes misses the harmonica playing; no one in the band can hold a candle to Orpheus.
He sets the table for five that night; Persephone and Hades are staying over to catch up with the kids. Don’t ask Hermes how he knows that Eurydice and Orpheus are coming back tonight; sometimes, gods just know things. It’s a part of the job.
The door is pushed open, the hinges squeaking despite the countless times Hermes has oiled them. Hermes doesn’t even bother acknowledging them properly, just says, “took you both long enough. Train showed up half an hour ago.”
“How did you- y’know, I ain’t even gonna bother to ask,” Eurydice says, dropping her case by the door and barreling towards Hermes. Orpheus is close behind, letting out a squeal of delight and wrapping Hermes in a tight hug.
“We missed you so much,” Orpheus says, his voice muffled by Hermes’ silver suit. Hermes smiles and ruffles Orpheus’ hair; the gesture seems so familiar, but Hermes feels out of practice. It has been a year since he’s last done the action.
“I missed you both too,” Hermes replies; his eyes water the slightest bit, but it must be from the dust storms that’ve been ravaging through town lately.
“I trust that you both enjoyed yourselves out on the road?” Hermes asks, studying the boy and the girl. Both of them seem fine, but a little worse for wear; Eurydice looks a little thinner than she’d been last time he saw her, but Hermes has plenty of time to fix that. Orpheus’ shirt is stained with something that looks painfully similar to coffee, and his pants are rolled up to his calves.
“It felt different,” Orpheus shrugs. “Different than our first time out.”
Hermes notices something bulky propped up against the door. “That yours?” he asks, curious and pointing at the black instrument-shaped case.
“Oh, yes!” Orpheus exclaims, rushing to unzip the case. “I bought this on the road; ‘s a guitar!”
Hermes smiles; of course Orpheus had. The harmonica had never been the best choice of an instrument for him, given it’s size.
“He can play it really well,” Eurydice says, sitting down and propping her feet atop of the table. Normally, Hermes would promptly motion for Eurydice to put her damn feet down, for Gods’ sake, but he lets it slide just this once.
“He’s just talented,” Hades says, walking into the bar and nodding at Orpheus and Eurydice. “‘s good to see you two again.” Glancing around the room, he turns to Hermes. “Don’t s’pose you’ll have seen my wife, Hermes?”
“She’s upstairs, last time I checked,” Hermes shrugs, and that’s where Hades goes.
“He didn’t even say hi!” Eurydice says, her eyes trailing the man’s path. “Rude much.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to say hi to him later,” Hermes points out. “Y’all got any stories for me, hmm?”
“We’ve got a whole library of stories, Mr Hermes,” Orpheus says, swooping down to press a kiss to Eurydice’s forehead. Blushing, the girl playfully swats him away. “Which one do you wanna hear first? Eurydice’s got plenty she can tell; we got kicked out of a bar once for being ‘publicly indecent,’ remember?”
“Ooh, yeah,” Eurydice says mischievously, and Hermes doesn’t care if they’re just playing with him; he’s missed sitting ‘round the table and listening to Orpheus and Eurydice recount the details of the day.
“Might want to save that for when Persephone comes downstairs,” Hermes says, noticing that Eurydice’s feather has been replaced with a carnation. “Actually, save all the best ones for dinner tonight.”
“Alright,” Orpheus says, putting his guitar over his shoulder. “Well, guess you’ll have to listen to me and Edie sing instead, Mr Hermes.” He puts his fingers on the frets and starts strumming, a bright grin on his face as he motions for Eurydice to start singing.
Eurydice stands up, rolling her eyes fondly. “You start,” she says, gently caressing Orpheus’ arm. “You’re always better at starting songs than I am.”
Hermes leans back in his chair as Orpheus opens his mouth to sing, satisfied. He’s glad his family’s back together; a year is far too long to be apart from your loved ones.