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The first time she met him, it was an accident. Persephone had dragged her to the campus coffee shop after she found her still studying on their dorm floor when she came back from class.
“You’re going to die from lack of sleep.” Persephone announced, dropping her green messenger bag on the floor next to Eurydice.
She shook her head, swallowing thickly. “Hasn’t been eleven nights yet. I’m fine,” she mumbled. The words on the page in front of her had gone blurry, and she blinked slowly, trying to force them to come into focus.
Persephone scoffed. “Your definition of the word ‘fine’ is severely flawed.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, louder, still staring at the page. Why wouldn’t the dumb words focus?
“If you’re going to pull three all-nighters, you have to at least get some caffeine in you,” she said, hands on her hips, her tone insistent.
She scowled up at her, still sprawled on the floor, eyes bleary from lack of sleep, and well, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Even if she did have her microbiology exam in two days with her asshole professor who refused to actually teach, she was right. So she pulled on her coat (it was cold out there!) and went to the coffee shop, dragged by Persephone, with heavy-lidded eyes and stumbling steps.
As soon as she reached the coffee shop, she dropped into a chair, significantly more tired than she thought she was before. She stared at the table. It was a nice table.
“What brings you here today?” An unfamiliar voice chimed, far too energetic, and she sleepily lifted her head to see the prettiest person she had ever seen in her life, holy fuck . Her heart stuttered at the sight of him, with his soft features and softer voice. He was so pretty, she wasn’t even mad at him for wearing both a jean jacket and jeans.
“Coffee,” she said dumbly, suddenly aware of how greasy her dark hair was. “Coffee. Coffee is good.”
“Finals?” He asked sympathetically, sitting down. She nodded sadly.
“Finals.”
“You got a name?” he asked, setting the guitar he was carrying on the table carefully. “Or should I call you sad coffee finals girl?”
“Eurydice,” she said automatically, smiling. “My name’s Eurydice. Microbiology major, minor in art.”
He grinned, and her heart melted even more. “Eurydice, huh? Your name is like a melody.” Her face suddenly felt warm, and she cleared her throat.
“Um, what about- what about you?” she said, stumbling over her words. “Who are you?”
“I’m Orpheus.” He grinned, and fuck, she could get used to seeing that smile. “Music major.”
“You sing?” she asked, leaning forward.
“A little,” he said, ducking his head, his cheeks flushed adorably.
“Sing something,” she said, smiling at his embarrassment. His eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly, and God, he was so pretty.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, my song’s not finished and I’m not even that good-”
“Sing it. What are you afraid of?” He gulped, and opened his mouth, probably to refuse again, but he was interrupted by Persephone, who had appeared suddenly with an armful of coffee.
“I got your expressos, you caffeine addict, I don’t know how you can even drink that, it’s so disgusting.”
“It’s coffee,” Eurydice argued. “Coffee is caffeine and caffeine is energy and I need energy, therefore I need coffee. ”
Persephone huffed. “When you die from both caffeine overdose and lack of sleep, you’re going to regret this and think hey, Persephone was right that one time, and then you’ll die and I will laugh because I warned you.”
“Shut up and give me my coffee. Orpheus, do you want some?” She turned towards him, but he had disappeared. “Orpheus?” Her heart sunk at his sudden absence, missing him immediately.
“Orpheus was here?” Persephone asked, drinking her latte.
“You know him?” she asked, whirling around.
“Of course I know him,” she scoffed. “I know everyone. Now drink your coffee, I paid way too much money for it.”
Eurydice drank her coffee. It was kind of terrible, but she drank it anyway.
------
The second time she met him, it wasn’t not so much of an accident. Ever since finals ended and she returned to the campus, she had been pestering everyone she knew (Persephone) to tell her about Orpheus. She was convinced that Persephone knew everything and everyone, but extracting information from her was like trying to catch a wild flying monkey hyped up on enough sugar to give an elephant an aneurysm. In three weeks, the only information she had gotten was that he was a music major, he busked around campus and the surrounding town, and he hung around the campus coffee shop.
So she went there again (even if they made horrible expressos) to find him. After two quick visits between classes, she quickly decided to make it her study spot. Even though their expressos were horrible, their mochas were still better than the sickly sweet ones in the dining halls. Besides, she reasoned, she needed to get out more. Staying in her dorm all day would kill her productivity. And if she looked up every time the door opened, well, that was her business and no one else’s.
That’s how she ended up there, sitting with her notes and pens spread out around her, sipping a mocha that she regretted paying for. She was so absorbed in her studying, she didn’t notice the figure that sat at her table until he spoke up.
“Fancy seeing you here again,” Orpheus said. Eurydice jumped, her heart thudding loudly when she recognized him. The papers that had been resting in her lap fell on the floor, and he rushed to gather them up.
“Orpheus!” she exclaimed, bubbling with equal parts nervousness and excitement. He grinned up at her sheepishly from collecting her papers, the pace of her heart quickening with the softness of his smile.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized, his cheeks slightly pink. Fuck, he was so pretty. He offered her the papers, and she accepted them, placing them on the table.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she waved it off, smiling at him brightly. “And thanks,” she added.
“No problem,” he said. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, and Eurydice caught her breath. “You know, I’m surprised,” he added, as an afterthought.
“About what?” she asked, with some effort (She was most definitely not thinking about running her hands through his soft hair).
“You remembered my name.” He said thoughtfully, and she almost laughed. Of course she remembered his name, how could she not?
“Well, it’s not exactly a common name, is it?” she chose to say instead. She grinned at him, and he smiled back.
“I guess not.” His hands fidgeted, and she barely resisted the urge to reach over the table to hold them in hers.
“Why, don’t you remember mine?” she asked teasingly. His smile grew softer.
“Of course I do. Eurydice.” Somehow, when he said her name, it sounded different from everyone else who had ever said it, and she held back her growing smile.
“Congrats, you’re officially the first one to know,” she joked, not expecting a reaction, but he laughed, leaving her feeling lightheaded.
“So, Eurydice , how was finals?” he asked, and she held back her growing smile, surprised that he had actually remembered their conversation.
“I didn’t fail,” she said, choosing her words carefully.
“That’s good,” he said, grinning. “Not failing is always the goal.”
“What about you?” she asked, smiling. “How’d you do?” He bit his bottom lip, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
“I didn’t fail,” he offered, and she laughed, trying to force the image of him biting his lip from her mind.
“Hey, those are my words. You have to pick your own,” she scolded lightly, looking at him expectantly.
“My composition teacher didn’t hate the song I played for him,” he said, after a brief pause.
“Oh, so you finished the song,” she teased. He paused briefly, squirming in his chair, and her eyes widened in realization. “You didn’t!” He shook his head.
“He said it felt lacking. Incomplete.” He let out a disappointed breath. “He was right.” His eyes were downcast, and she felt a rush of sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” she ventured, reaching over the table to poke his shoulder. He shook his head smiling, eyes still glued to the table.
“I still got an A.” She laughed incredulously.
“You got an A with an unfinished song?” He nodded. Who even was this boy, and who had given him the right to be this amazing?
“I did.” He sounded surprised himself.
“It must be some song, then,” she ventured.
“It really is.”
“Well, now I have to hear it,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a wide grin.
He shook his head, his eyes finally coming up to meet hers. “It’s not finished, I told you.” Still, he smiled.
“You sang it for your teacher,” she prodded.
“That was for finals,” he resisted, still smiling. “I have to finish it first.”
“And then I’ll hear it?” she asked, and fuck, her voice was a lot softer than she had meant it to be. She coughed, averting her eyes from his gaze, which suddenly seemed far too intense, too intimate.
“I promise.” His voice was softer than hers, and her heart clenched tightly.
“Okay,” she said, still looking away.
“Okay.”
“Name a time and place, I’ll be there,” she offered, her eyes finding his.
“Or,” he said, fumbling for a napkin.
“Or?” she asked carefully, watching as he scribbled on the napkin with one of her pens lying on the table.
“You could call me,” he said thrusting the napkin at her. It held a scribbled number, and her heart beat fast in her chest. “Or text- whatever you want,” he said, stumbling over the words, “and we could set something up.” She exhaled slowly, trying to process everything.
“Okay,” she said, barely managing to say that one word. Her voice was diminished, and she swallowed.
“Okay,” he said, breaking out into a huge smile. “Um, I’ll stop bothering you for now, I have a lot of things to do.” He stood, almost tripping over his feet. She held back her disappointment, ignoring the voice in her head that begged him to stay and nodded.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I should probably get back to studying.”
“See you around?” The question was simple, unexpectant, and unassuming, but somehow answering it felt like signing a contract.
“Of course,” she said, her voice impossibly soft, and just like that, he was gone. And she would be lying if she said that the rest of her day was filled with thoughts of him instead of thoughts of her professors’ lectures and the work she had to do.
Needless to say, she doesn’t follow the three-day rule.
------
The third time she met him, it was most definitely not an accident. Since Orpheus was constantly holed up in either his dorm or a practice room and Eurydice’s professors collectively decided to bully her with an ungodly amount of work, they refrained from actually meeting, but they spent a lot of time texting, calling, and FaceTiming each other. She marveled at the fact that she had found someone like him, someone who gets adorably excited whenever he sees a cute dog or when it’s a sunny day, are you fucking serious right now Orpheus we live in Florida every day is a sunny day.
Despite not being able to actually see him, they can talk on the phone, and over the next few weeks (or two months? It's hard to tell, her time with him always seems to pass far too fast), she learned him, learned who he really was. She always had issues trusting and getting along with other people, but Orpheus was a completely open book and the human embodiment of a ray of sunshine, and the moment she saw him, she knew she could trust him. So she did. She learned how he adored poetry, and she ended up spending far too much time reading up on his favorite poets. She learned how, despite her urgings, he constantly works himself to death on his compositions and how his fingertips are always red from his guitar strings. She learned how he tugs at his bandana when he’s nervous and hums when he’s distracted. She learned how he wakes up at six o’clock in the fucking morning like a maniac and goes to bed at ten PM like a twelve year-old (she envies him far too much). She learned how he likes his coffee (with enough cream to drown a shark and enough sugar to give a blue whale a heart attack) and how his socks are always mismatched. And she learned how to fall in love with him, with his lanky legs and bright voice and caring smile. She falls in love with him, in spite of herself, and she falls hard.
She looked forward to talking to him everyday, and he goes from crossing her mind a few times every day to being the only thought in her head. It drove her insane and killed her productivity, but she cours to exactly complain. Instead of ignoring her phone when it vibrates like she usually does, she frantically fumbles for her phone, even diving across the room a few times. It’s not the best habit, but she can’t help it. She gets used to his early morning calls, learning what it’s like to hear his voice the first thing in the morning, and it’s not the worst feeling in the world. A thrill runs through her every time she hears his voice, and she has to struggle not to let it show. She falls hard, and she knows it.
She starts to notice all the little things he does for her. She notices how he spams her with pictures of cute dogs when she complains about her professors until she feels better, and how he bribes her with pictures of cats to go to sleep when she studies too late. She notices how he can read her so well, better than even she can, and how he actually listens to her, someone almost no one actually does, never interrupting or ignoring her. She notices how he’s extra soft with her, always asking if she’s okay or gently prodding her to take better care of herself. She notices how he smiles at her, like she’s the only person in the universe, and in a heartbeat, she knows she doesn’t deserve him. But she doesn’t care. She loves him (She knows she’s in too deep. She doesn’t care about that either).
One day, she got a text that read: I finished it. She typed out a response shakily, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
Where?
Basement of the Richards library
She had never been to the library’s basement before, but she knew a lot of people who loved to go there. She had heard (wildly exaggerated) tales of the ice cream they kept in the freezer and the blankets on the couches. It didn’t sound completely horrible.
“Hi.” She ducked her head as she came into the basement, looking around.
There were faded posters on the wall, a woven rug that covered the concrete floor, and an old lamp that hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly. It had a soft, homey feel to it, and she could see why everyone loved this place, even if she had to walk down five floors to get to it and was already dreading walking back up.
“Hi.” Orpheus was seated on a stool in the center of the room, guitar in his hands. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him, and she fiddled with the hem of her shirt nervously, sitting on the couch in front of him. He tugged on his bandana absent-mindedly, the habit she had grown to love so much, and she averted her eyes.
“You finished it,” she offered, not sure what else to say, and he lit up immediately, smiling brightly. She ignored the swooping feeling in her stomach, but she couldn’t help smiling back.
“I finished it,” he repeated.
“Well?” she asked. “Let’s hear it then.” He swallowed, and she fought the urge to reach out and stroke the soft skin under his jaw.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly. She smiled as encouragingly as she could, suddenly breathless.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded and started to play, and holy shit, she was not ready.
The song was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. She had heard him play a few chords before, but she had heard nothing like this. His slender hands gently coaxed a harmony out of the guitar, and his lilting voice soared, each note rich and resonant. She sat there, transfixed by the way his fingers expertly moved up and down the fretboard. He sang, his voice raw with emotion and conviction, and her throat constricted with the sheer force of it. It was a simple tune, but somehow, it felt more complex and intricate than any other song. His voice rose and fell, crescendoing and decrescendoing, every musical phrase resolving itself perfectly. When it ended, she was left feeling more emotionally drained than she had in the longest time.
“So?” he asked, carefully setting his guitar on the floor and standing up. “How was it? How- how’d I do?” Eurydice laughed, rendered speechless. She rose and hugged him tightly, resting her forehead on his chest.
“Oh.” He said the words quietly, almost involuntarily. His arms tightened around her and she almost sobbed, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace.
“It was- it was so amazing and beautiful, and you’re so amazing and beautiful, I can’t even begin to describe it, Orpheus, that was amazing.”
“Oh,” he repeated, and his hands found themselves sliding into her hair. She laughed again, reveling in the euphoria of his song and touch.
“You should be so proud of yourself, Orpheus, that was- that was so amazing.” He exhaled slowly, adjusting his head so that his chin rested on the top of her head.
“It really was, wasn’t it?” he asked breathlessly, and she knew he wasn’t just talking about the song. So she took the chance, choosing to speak up instead of reveling in the moment.
“I love you,” she said softly. His hands froze, and she pulled away and looked him in the eye. “I love you,” she repeated, louder, her heart beating almost painfully in her chest. His face was unreadable.
“No, you don’t,” he said, almost imperceptibly, and her heart shattered. She shook her head rapidly. No. How could he possibly think that?
“I love you,” she repeated again, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb, trying to make him understand. “I love you.”
“How many times are you going to say that?” he asked, his voice raw with emotion. She swallowed, ignoring the prickling in her eyes.
“As many times as it takes for you to realize it’s true,” she whispered. “I love you.” His eyes were far away, not even meeting hers, and her heart sank even further.
“You won’t say the same thing tomorrow.” His voice held a world of pain, and she reached for his hand in an attempt to reassure him that she was telling him the truth, that she would always tell him the truth, but he pulled his hand back.
“I will,” she said. Still, she took the hint, stepping backwards.
“No, you won’t.”
“When have I ever lied to you?” He shook his head, and her heart constricted even further. Didn’t she know that she could never lie to him?
“Okay,” she said, with finality. “Then I’ll wait until morning.”
“What?” Whatever he was expecting, she knew it wasn’t that. She swallowed down her apologies, her declarations of love and pushed forward.
“It’s 11:00 PM. I’ll stay here, and when I wake up, I’ll tell you how I feel.” His eyes searched hers helplessly, tired and confused, and she bit her tongue.
“Why?” That one word shook her to her core, but she forced herself to look him in the eye, doing her best to not let it show.
“You said that I won’t say the same thing tomorrow. This is my way of letting you know that I will.” He shook his head, his eyes bright and piercing.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She paused. What could she possibly say? “I think you know my answer,” she said quietly, her voice subdued. He nodded sadly.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, only that she spent far too long staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. All the times she had imagined telling him she loved him, she never imagined it would end up like this. Still, she fell asleep. She woke up to the sound of a guitar, and Orpheus was there, playing through the same song he played last night (in her opinion, the best way to wake up). She listened to him play, still sprawled on the couch, soaking in the moment. When the song ended, he met her eyes, and she knew she couldn’t avoid the moment anymore.
“You’re awake,” he said, carefully setting his guitar on the carpet and sitting next to her on the couch. He was too far away for her liking, and she resisted the urge to pull him closer.
“I am.” She dragged a hand through her too-greasy hair, more nervous than she was last night.
“Do you have something to say to me?” he asked shyly, and her stomach was suddenly invaded by a fucking battalion of butterflies. She swallowed, doing her best to ignore them.
“I love you,” she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is that okay?” she asked after a brief pause, remembering how he had reacted last night. He leaned his head against hers, and all her anxieties melted away, leaving only the overwhelming feeling love and adoration she felt for him.
“Of course it’s okay,” he whispered. “I love you too.” And there it was. The confession, the admission that he felt the same way about her that she felt about him, and euphoria bubbled up inside of her. His hand found hers, squeezing tightly, and she brought his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” His voice was impossibly soft, and she almost sobbed with all the gentleness and adoration it held.
“Seal it with a kiss?”
“Of course.”
And well, she doesn’t need to be a poet to know that that one kiss meant far more than either of them could possibly say.