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Up Elm, down Milk st, cross Denver way, and if he took the bike path, it might save a few minutes of time. Traffic was backed up all the way down the main drag cutting through the winding streets of the city that had never been updated from when they were still cow paths. He could bike past the parking lot of cars, but Hermes didn’t want to risk some idiot opening their door into the bike lane and having another wipe out. Again.
Maybe not Milk. Hermes took a sharp turn, his wheels squealing against the pavement, down the Remembrance Walk avenue. It would cut through the park. His legs protested as he pounded up the hill, but the drive down would help him pick up speed. He was still ahead by 10 minutes, but that would be 10 minutes added for down time between his next job.
Hermes smiled to himself. He liked down time.
He shot through the park, breezing past runners and dog walkers and a mother with a baby. One commuter running to the train yelled at him as he clipped past, but Hermes only picked up speed, pumping his legs and wriggling his bike back and forth in an effort to stand on the pedals.
11 minutes ahead of time. He ran inside the lobby and up to the guard on duty.
“Delivery,” he said, not even winded, and dropped the briefcase on the desk. He clicked open the cuff on his wrist to pass it over the counter and the guard hadn’t even looked up from his coffee yet.
“W-what?” the guard sputtered.
“Delivery. Olympus Inc? They’re expecting this. Need it right away.” He rapped on the briefcase with urgency. “Did they not tell you? Were you not aware? Call Hestia, she’s their secretary.”
He spoke a mile a minute and it seemed from the guard’s slack jawed expression that he was unable to keep up. Hermes snapped his fingers.
“Come on, my good man, chop chop. We don’t have all day.” His voice came out in an irritated sing song.
10 minutes.
“O-oh right.” The guard fumbled for the phone.
It took Hestia 2 more minutes to get down the elevator, leaving Hermes to bounce irritably on one foot. She should have been waiting on him. Honestly, did nobody live on a schedule in this day and age? She was pleasant and quiet and took the oh so important paperwork that was needed from Olympus’ storage first thing in the morning.
“Thank you Hermes,” she said in a smooth voice far too slow for Hermes’ liking.
He gave her a curt nod before dashing back out to his bike. A quick check on his phone to see that Tartarus Diamonds’ money went through and that would be his next pick up. They’d probably have him ferry over jewelry across their 6 locations peppered over the city. Some of the big chain online stores needed same day deliveries and Hermes could always rely on the old crone down Newbury to ask for groceries again.
Which meant Hermes would be passing over the riverway a couple of times.
He smiled and pressed his bike forward, letting his legs stand stiff on the pedals and his wheels to just glide.
Hermes already swallowed a cup of coffee before he left his overpriced, miniscule apartment that morning. It was too hot and too bitter, but it perked him up just enough to get out the door before the sun.
He didn’t technically need another cup of coffee. But. . .
Tartarus didn’t request his services as ASAP and Hermes could take his time making his way to their downtown location, but being early meant on time and being on time meant late. Things happened. Things always happened. And things meant delays.
Hermes hated delays.
But. . .
Hermes took a leisurely turn, well leisurely for him, onto the parkway and pumped his legs alongside the chug of a train coming out of its tunnel. He cut through the green, buzzed past the traffic, through the medical district, pass the library, and into the stuffy, too rich, too hip neighborhood of two intersecting college campuses. Each familiar landmark stirred the ever present buzz in the back of Hermes’ mind.
The walking path dipped down into a small spit of land that just out onto the river where a dinky little shack of a building stood. The sign over the door looked almost handwritten. In a curling scrawl it read Stygian Cafe.
It was out of the way of Hermes’ normal routes. He’d first discovered the little shop when he was between dropping off an emergency delivery to some poor student’s professor from his hungover apartment across town. It had been his maybe 20th, or 25th delivery of that day and noon had yet to strike. Hermes had pushed himself too far and was in dire need of carbohydrates.
The cafe was the closest available.
He had stumbled into the little cafe and demanded some kind of bread product. He hadn't had the fortitude of mind to specify what. And besides, he was in a rush.
Hermes had fumbled with his wallet and dropped it on the ground by the time a bran muffin and a bottle of water was gently placed on the counter. He must have looked worse for the wear. It wasn’t until he tried to pay and the muffin was simply scooted closer without accepting Hermes’ money, that Hermes really noticed the man behind the counter.
Hermes leaned his bike against the rack where he could see it from the dim of the cafe. It was cool inside despite the lack of air conditioning. The floor was a dark wood and the walls, although an off white, were a shade too low to be cheery. One wall was a hip brick that only brought down the lighting and made the space feel smaller. It left the little shop with a cool cozy atmosphere.
Soft music played. Sometimes it was classical, sometimes it was jazz, that day it was some form of chill lo-fi. Hermes could feel his heart rate lowering immediately.
The tall lurching figure behind the counter perked up, his head raising from the espresso machine. He stood up a little straighter when he saw who had entered his shop.
Hermes had never been formally introduced to Charon. He had read the coffee shop owner’s name tag as he stood pathetically hunched over with his card out, sweating on the hardwood floor. For once he took his time, rolling the letters, really tasting the name on his tongue, as he took in the incredulous figure before him who had dared to reject his money.
Charon was tall. One of those ridiculously tall people where it might have been a medical problem. It was a good thing the ceiling was so high in his little shop otherwise he would have been scraping his head along the top. To make matters worse, he constantly wore a wide brimmed hat. Maybe he had some problem with the sun, maybe it was a fashion statement, but the man was never seen without it. It shadowed over a gaunt face, making his deep sunken eyes glow in the dim light. He had long arms and long fingers that made up cold hands. His clothes hung off a slim frame so that the only feature Hermes really knew were broad shoulders. Around his neck was a constant necklace of coins, holes drilled through their tops and a chain linked them together. They clinked as Charon worked.
He had a wide smile of clean teeth that greeted Hermes every time he came into the shop.
Hermes’ heart fluttered at that smile and he promptly ignored it. Charon was one of those delays that turned on time to late.
“Hey boss,” he said, all but floating into the shop. “How are we doing today?”
“Hhhaannnn. . .” Charon grumbled. A gravelly sound that was one part exhausted, the other part resigned. Tough but good day. He went back to cleaning his espresso machine and Hermes could see the way he was taking his time.
“Sucks,” Hermes said, slumping on the counter.
“Nnnnngh. .”
“If it makes you feel better, mine is going just great,” Hermes went on, knowing Charon would listen. “Great day outside, little bit of a breeze, you can see the boats sailing on the river out there, yeah?” Hermes jerked his head to the window. “But you know, demanding customers. I’ve only got maybe 5 jobs so far today but.” He whistled. “They wanted them quick quick quick and of course.” He rolled his eyes. “On opposite ends of town.”
The espresso machine hissed and steam plumed under Charon’s hat. The clanking of the tin cup spinning around the wand almost covered up Charon’s amicable rumble.
“I’ve got a little time now.” Hermes turned to lean his back against the counter, prop up his elbows, and cross one leg over the other. “Figured I swing around, pop in, see how my favorite barista is doing?”
Charon’s head jerked, just a little micro fraction, just enough to look over his shoulder. Hermes shot him a quick wink before he could look away again. If it wasn’t for that wonderful curtain of hair, he might have caught a faint blush across bony cheeks.
“You should take a step outside,” Hermes continued. “Get a little sun on that beautiful face of yours.”
Another disgruntled little grumble and Hermes caught the hitch in Charon’s shoulders.
Making the barista flustered was one of Hermes’ favorite games.
“Whats the special today?” Hermes asked, sounding like bird song. “Other than you of course.”
“Hmmmmrrr.” Charon tapped the chalkboard.
He didn’t have a particular talent for artwork, but he tried. Something looking like a sad potato that yearned to be put out of its humanized misery was drawn on the sign. It looked like it was crying. Thank goodness Charon wrote the specials out in an inelegant scrawl that matched the sign.
“Lemon squeezy?” Hermes said carefully, squinting his eyes. He shook his head. “I think I’ll just take my usu–"
A covered cup with a hot jacket slid across the counter. Cappuccino, double shot espresso, no sugar. Hermes closed his mouth and let a slow smile form over his lips. Charon had a nice way of slowing things down. He swiped up the cup and took a sip. What little foam on the cappuccino pressed through the little hole and rested on his lip. He reached into his back pocket and nodded his head to the bakery display.
“I will be taking one of those delightful looking zucchini muffins,” he said.
“Huurrrmmm.” Charon moved slow to fetch one and while his back was turned, Hermes slipped two dollars into Charon’s tip jar.
Paid up and hands full, Hermes walked backwards out of the shop. His back hit the push bar and he opened the door, letting sunshine and heat seep into the quiet coziness of Charon’s place of work.
“You take care now, boss,” Hermes said, ready to eat half of that zucchini muffin in one bite.
Charon hummed again and raised one of his hands in a solid wave. What beautiful fingers that man had.
Hermes took his bite, gave one more wink, and slipped back out into the sunshine. He glanced at his watch and almost choked.
He was on time. Which meant he was running late.
____
Hermes passed by the Stygian Cafe for the third time that day. He could see the line snaking up the little hill from 100 yards away. He swore under his breath and gripped his handlebars tighter, shifting gears and picking up speed as he zoomed past his forgone indulgence. Afternoon already and Hermes had yet to get his cappuccino. Sure he could go somewhere else, but it would be overpriced and not done the way he liked it.
There’d be no Charon.
Saddle bag filled with legal documents thudded against Hermes’ side as he raced through the conjoined campuses. On that particular pass by of the cafe, he’d gone out of his way just to be denied. Again! There was no time to wait in line, there was never enough time. There must have been some sort of summer testing period or finals or visitation to make the cafe such a popular spot that day.
Selfishly, Hermes cussed them all out for monopolizing his time with Charon.
He blamed the caffeine withdrawal for the headache that crawled up his spine. He cut through the back alley the library made with a police station, ducking under a half downed fire escape. A car leaned on it's horn as he flew out into the street.
"Watch where you're going!" Hermes called over his shoulder.
It wasn't that he was being reckless. Everyone was just an asshole that day.
Hermes was ready to blast through a red light, but the wall of intersecting cars deterred any thoughts of that. He huffed and stopped just over the white line, leaning one foot on the ground. He fidgeted, staring up at the glaring red of the light, and picked at the velcro on his gloves. He pulled out his phone and checked the next three jobs he had back to back to back. The detour to drive past Stygian Cafe cost him precious time. Strands of hair flopped down on his sweat kissed brow, free of the band that wrapped around his head. It was only then he realized his own heavy breathing from his open maw.
Thoroughly unprofessional, in his opinion.
The car behind him honked and Hermes jolted in place, almost dropping his phone. He didn’t have time to even spare the vehicle a glare and took off through the green light.
He dropped the attache of legal documents at Athena, Apollo LLC. The elevator was taking too long and Hermes figured running up 12 flights of stairs would go faster. He took two more jobs from the online store’s distribution center, one grocery delivery, and a run for Tartarus. Standing in the loading dock of a warehouse, holding out a small black folded bag of diamonds, Hermes thought, not for the first time, that maybe the jewelry store was a front for the mob.
Hermes wheeled down the main drag through the Post center, looking at his phone. He had a few pings, one of them a pizza delivery. Even Hermes wouldn’t stoop that low.
The sun was arching towards down and in a few hours the golden light of sunset would be bouncing off gleaming skyscrapers. And Hermes had yet to have a single delicious cup of coffee.
Hermes’ thumb hovered over the job accept button. Instead he tucked his thumb to the side. The call pulsed green on the screen, waiting for a runner to pick it up. Instead, Hermes shut off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He turned his bike around and headed back in the direction of the too hip for the room college town.
There was still a line.
Hermes stood, one foot on the ground, bike leaning against his leg, and huffed. The snaking line out of the Stygian Cafe was smaller than it had been earlier, but still.
There was a line.
Hermes sighed and hopped off his bike, feeling it in his thighs and glutes. An exhaustion sat heavy behind his eyes and he felt like he’d been screaming for hours, despite exchanging only a few, quick words with his customers. He walked his bike to the rack, actually chained it for once, and stepped in the back of the line.
“And its just not enough,” the young man in front of him said, talking with his arms. “I just work and work and work but its never enough. And its honestly not my fault that he relied on nepotism to get me a job I’m not qualified for.”
“Have you considered, I don’t know, trying?” his companion shot back.
“I have,” the first kid whined in a way that meant he really hadn’t. “But he’s constantly breathing down my neck. And that reminds me!”
Kid number one snapped his fingers and pointed up at kid number two, who was only a few inches taller, but seemed to hover over his companion.
The line shuffled forward.
“Tell your brother to back off,” kid number one said. “He gives me more shit than my old man.”
“You know I can’t,” kid number two sighed.
“Have you considered, I don’t know, trying!?”
“Zag. . .”
The line shuffled forward once more, just enough that Hermes could step into the cool of the cafe. He leaned to the side to get a good view of what was going on.
Charon was moving faster than Hermes had ever seen him move, and even then it was still just a fraction compared to Hermes’ speed. He seemed to be working multiple orders at once, long spindly arms reaching over counters as he leaned back and forth in his little space. He had pulled his hair back in a low ponytail, but kept the hat on. His sleeves were rolled up and for the first time Hermes could see that Charon wasn’t skinny.
He was lean.
Hermes stared. He stared at the way Charon’s arm bent, the flex of muscle in his bicep, the bit of a vein on the back of his hand as he passed a cup to a customer. They were long, Hermes knew that, but with them revealed like that he could imagine just how much Charon could hold between those limbs. How constricting and safe it would feel. . .
The woman behind Hermes cleared her throat.
Hermes shot a quick look at her, then back forward again. He was still leaned over, one foot practically off the ground, and the line had moved forward. Hermes took a quick shuffle to catch up.
The tall children in front of him ordered, the shorter one got something too sweet and made of vegetables, the taller got a bitter black.
Then Hermes was left.
“Hnnn?” Charon asked without looking up.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Charon’s head shot up, dark eyes wide under the brim of his hat. If he didn’t know better, Hermes could have sworn those deep eye bags looked heavier, the sunken nature of his face had tighter lines. But that look of startled surprise seemed to fill him up, if only a little. Hermes smirked, feeling his smile pull at the corner.
“Hey boss.”
“Hhurrrrmmm.” Charon tucked his head again, but even the shadow of his brim couldn’t hide that wide smile. He turned in place and immediately got to work on Hermes’ usual.
“You’re popular today,” Hermes said. “Is the special extra special? Are you putting something illegal in it?”
Charon’s head jerked, as if to shoot a glare, but he never seemed able to.
“Or maybe everyone just realized how good this place is and just wanted to come see you.” Hermes leaned his body on the counter, half draped across it and floating off the floor. “Not that I blame them.”
“Mmmmhhh,” Charon grumbled quietly. Hermes could hear the blush from there.
He glanced up at the special. Something about egg coffee? The picture had what Hermes could only assume was a little baby bird cracking out of its egg. Or that was a scribble. Or a spider. Hermes squinted and leaned in the direction of the chalkboard, one foot going off the floor, and tried to make sense of it.
“Mmmrrrhhhaa.”
One cup of cappuccino was placed in front of Hermes, slid across the counter in a jerky slow motion. Hermes was quick to go for it and his fingers slid over Charon’s ice cold ones. Not the first time and every time Charon snatched his hand back, holding it close to his chest, as if scalding on a hot stove. Hermes took a long, too loud sip, keeping eye contact with Charon.
“Eh. Hem!” the lady behind him barked.
Hermes gave her a cool look over his shoulder.
“Okay this,” he said, waggling his coffee in the air. “And a. . .”
He looked at the display case and for the first time saw it was bone empty. A simple white light illuminated empty shelves and maybe a few crumbs. It was only in that moment that Hermes realized he hadn’t eaten yet that day. How long had he been relying on Charon for food?
“Nothing, I guess.” Hermes shrugged. “Geez boss they really wiped you out huh?”
“Haaaa. . .”
“And here I thought I was the only one who took advantage of you.” Hermes leaned into Charon’s space, just to feel him fluster.
Hermes slid his card over to the barista who dutifully rang it through the reader. Hermes kept his close proximity and delighted in the way Charon didn’t move back, didn’t give them space. Only maintained the scant distance, even when he held the card back to Hermes at eye level. Hermes plucked it from Charon’s fingers and turned to walk away.
“See you later, boss.”
If there hadn’t been a slight tug on his shirt.
Charon held onto Hermes’ sleeve, holding him in place. He held up one finger and hunched to reach beneath the counter, pulling out a lonely bran muffin, still wrapped in plastic. It rested in the center of Charon’s palm as he held it out for Hermes to take.
“I. . . uh.” Hermes inspected the bran muffin and wondered again how bad he must have looked. A nervous smile ticked on to his face and he met Charon’s eyes. “Oh come on, you know I can’t take that.”
“Hhhaa. .” Charon held his hand out further. The grip on Hermes’ shirt fixed him in place.
“Just take the damn muffin,” the woman behind him grumbled.
Hermes snorted out a little laugh, sparing the woman a glance, more amused than he could ever be offended. He plucked the muffin from Charon’s hand and only then did the barista let go of his sleeve.
“Okay, you win this time,” Hermes said. “But I’ll get you back.”
He pointed a stern finger at Charon, half walking backwards out of the shop. Charon turned to the woman next in line, already moving on, but Hermes swore he caught another little glance in his direction. Charon’s eyes caught the light, if just for a moment, and his dark piercing gaze glowed.
With the day finally on track, Hermes shoved the muffin in his mouth and hopped back on his bike, his cappuccino precariously balanced between his hand and the handlebar.
The line was worth it.
____
Back in 15 Minutes
The scrawl was unmistakable. It was Charon's wretched handwriting. Hermes stood at the cafe door, staring down the torn piece of paper that had been hastily taped to the glass and felt a little bit betrayed.
He had turned down a job and let another runner pick it up. He had gotten sloppy on the last two deliveries to save time. He had clipped his arm making a tight turn. All so he could get to the Stygian Cafe with some time to spare.
And Charon was out.
It wasn’t raining. Maybe someone would call it drizzling, but it was more like miniscule droplets simply hung in the air. Hermes stood in the not rain next to choppy water, staring down the almost illegible way Charon looped his M. Who looped an M? People who felt the need to attempt serif on only half the letters. Or little girls writing in the margins of their notebook. Hermes was almost surprised the I wasn’t dotted with a little heart. The man was an enigma.
Hermes worked his jaw to the side and drummed his fingers on his handlebars. He could come back. He’d done it before. But he was there and Charon wasn’t.
Charon was always there, waiting with a strange smile and Hermes’ usual at the ready.
Hermes sighed and the ever present strain seeped from his shoulders. He looked around and found a rock wedged in the grass. It was big enough and flat enough that he could sit down on it. His pants would wet, but they were already damp from his bike.
He took a seat.
Hermes never really took in the campus grounds before. Not really. He had some vague idea of what they looked like swirled in with his expectations of what a college campus should be. From the brief glances of latin phrases over dorm room halls and the ever present public library looming over the horizon. But sitting on that damp rock, smelling the fresh spray of the river, and finally slowing down, Hermes took it in.
Pathways wound through handsome brick buildings, some of them lined with bricks themselves. If Hermes really thought about it, he could remember his bike bouncing over them as he flew past meandering students. Trees lined the path, in a full leafy green, but in the spring they bloomed with flowers that had a questionable gluey smell. It was quite a remarkable campus, shared by the two universities, peppered here and there with modern, flagrant decor of student life. A flag in the window, trash that had missed the can, another biker leisurely making their way to class.
A couple walked by, arm in arm, under an umbrella, and giggled to themselves.
Hermes leaned his hand in his palm. Without the distraction of his frantic race across town, the pathways and job occupying his mind, the late night thoughts crept back in. Laid out in bed, staring up at his ceiling, his mind moved slow enough to whisper intrusive thoughts into his ear. Of how quiet his little apartment was, how small his bed was. How he woke up alone and went to bed alone. How he ran and biked and moved to occupy the space with sound. If he danced across his apartment and downed too hot coffee and took long strides, it would make the space seem bigger, more full.
Hermes closed his eyes and leaned further into his hand.
He was alone. He had family, he had friends, but he didn’t have moments. He didn’t have an arm to loop his own through, to lean in and share a joke with. It wasn’t that he wanted to be surrounded by his big crowd of acquaintances and familial ties, but a connection, a quality relationship, even if it was just one.
That would be nice.
The path before Hermes crunched under foot steps and the cold drizzle in the air halted, replaced with the drum against taut fabric.
Hermes opened his eyes and looked up to the one person he saw on a day to day basis.
Charon held an umbrella over their heads, his other arm wrapped around a paper bag. He almost looked surprised to see Hermes sitting there, but expected him at the same time. He was dressed in a long dark jacket that brushed the ground and was completely the incorrect wear for summer and adorned with, of course, his wide brimmed hat. The presence of which should have negated the need for an umbrella. But still, there he was, leaning over to make sure Hermes was also protected from the rain.
Hermes couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.
“Hey boss.” It came out slow and foreign to Hermes’ ears, like it wasn’t his own voice.
“Hrrrmm. . .” Charon hummed. He took a moment to stare down Hermes, possibly waiting for the messenger to make the first move. Hermes only sat on his rock. Charon jerked the umbrella in the direction of the shop.
“After you,” Hermes said, standing up and wiping down the wet on his backside. It was a lost cause. “If I could get in, I would already be there. Making my own coffee, really messing up your fancy machines and what not behind the counter.”
Hermes’ speech pattern ramped back up to its normal speeds.
Charon shot Hermes a bland look and braced the umbrella on his shoulder as he went for his keys.
“Next time I’ll be sure to throw a rock.”
“Nnnnmm.”
The shop was suspiciously quiet without the music on and a practical cave without the lights. Charon stomped his boots and shook out his umbrella. Hermes made himself at home and switched on the lights. It was bizarre, seeing Charon’s counter without the barista behind it. Like a face without a mustache. Something Hermes was used to that had suddenly changed.
He looked up to Charon just to reacclimate.
“Here I thought you were chained back there,” he said. “I was pretty sure you had a cot and just lived out of this shop.”
“Haaa.” Charon removed the coat, quickly replacing it with a standard issue apron, and Hermes took the opportunity to glance at those arms again.
“You sure did take your time though,” Hermes said, shifting his eyes to the plant in the corner. He traced the leaves and found it was real, which was a surprise to him. “Dawdling away out in the rain, leaving me waiting. I don’t get much time to whittle away you know. Got a schedule to keep. And I gotta sneak in every minute with you that I can.”
Hermes grinned and gave another one of those quick winks over to Charon.
But Charon wasn’t flustered. He stood tall behind his counter, water dribbling from the edge of his hat down to the formica, his hands working to tie the apron behind his back. He stared down Hermes in curiosity, digesting the quickly said words.
Hermes’ smile twitched, threatening to fade.
“Anyways, we all know why I’m here.” Hermes danced across the shop, practically floating. “Need a little pick me up. Rain makes it a little chilly, so something nice and warm to keep me all cozy would just be grand, thanks boss.”
He leaned against the counter again, his usual position, but still, Charon was unmoving. That same stare of appraisal and Hermes wondered if Charon found him lacking. He yanked on his tie in one last swift pull with a soft grunt and turned to his espresso machine. Hermes scanned Charon’s back, taking in the way his shirt hung off his shoulders and tucked into the tie of his apron. The fabric pulled at his shoulder blades. Hermes eyes flicked away and to the paper bag.
“So what illicit activities were you out doing anyways?” Hermes said, perching up on his toes to peer over the edge.
He hooked one finger to look at the contents inside. Flour, sugar, red food coloring, cranberries. Charon grumbled, barely heard over foaming milk, and tapped the chalkboard. Practice runs of attempts at artistic ability scrawled across the bottom, a shaky hand tracing the shape of hearts, curled horns adorning the top of them.
“Can’t wait to see,” Hermes smiled down at the contents, wondering what strange pun Charon was going to come up with.
Charon didn’t respond, his arms moving with careful consistency. A broad back covered up any of his machinations and the preparation of Hermes’ coffee.
Hermes watched. He thought of the couple outside, thought of how, if only for a moment, he shared an umbrella with the barista. He wondered what it would be like to loop his arm in Charon’s.
That was pathetic. Hermes found a personal refuge in the cafe on a daily basis and just because he saw the same food service worker every day and relentlessly flirted with him didn’t mean there was anything there. Hermes wasn’t sure where that came from in the first place.
Maybe he was just having an off day.
The cup in its cardboard sleeve slid across the counter, breaking Hermes out of his shockingly silent reverie. Hermes came back online, cleared his throat, and pulled out his wallet. When he went for the cup, Charon didn’t jerk his hand back. When their fingers touched, he left them there. Hermes met Charon’s eyes and felt pinned. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, what emotions he wore. He’d always been so closed off, but Hermes could usually tell.
Hermes felt as if he were being judged.
“Well I suppose that’s that,” Hermes tried to laugh it off, taking the cup from Charon. “Gotta go get back to it. You take care of yourself for me boss, okay?”
More silent stares as Hermes moonwalked across the store, opening the door with his back, and stepped back out into the drizzle. An instant relief washed over Hermes as he stepped away from the shop. His routine fulfilled, Hermes could slip back into his world and away from . . . whatever that was.
Hermes walked his bike up the little slope and to the campus that he was strangely aware of. He held his bike with one hand listening to the spokes click round and round, already thinking of the routes he’d take, his legs itching to get back into motion.
He took a sip of his coffee.
That wasn’t cappuccino.
There was less foam that clung to his lip and it wasn’t as strong. It was a sweeter, smoother flavor, less a vehicle to get caffeine into him now now now and more an honest to goodness drink.
Hermes peeled back the cap and looked inside.
A latte. Nearly identical to a cappuccino. The same ingredients, simply composed in a different manner. And far more easier to make little drawings in the milk. While Charon’s hand was just as good with foam art as it was with his chalkboard, the shape was unmistakable.
A heart. In the middle of Hermes’ coffee.
Hermes looked back down to the little shop. He could make out the tall unmistakable silhouette through the tinted windows, moving as he took all his ingredients from the paper bag one at a time. Hermes smiled. He probably thought he was so sneaky.
Hermes fixed the cap into place before too much rainwater could spoil his special treat. He walked his bike across campus and decided to take his time. Really savor his coffee.
____
The sun shone hot on the back of Hermes’ neck and the whip of wind past his ears was oppressive. The typical song of birds and coo of pigeons were absent among the clack of foot traffic and honk of horns. The city smelled of sweat. The far distance sizzled in refracted UV against pavement. Hermes could taste salt on his tongue.
He pedaled up a hill, panting against the mocking laughter of the sun. By the end of the day he’d drop into a tan in the perfect shape of his tank top. He wore his most breathable bike shorts he owned that unfortunately rode up when he pumped his thighs. He puffed out a large breath, his wheels creaking as he hit the brakes.
His body heaved with each guppy gulp of air and he went for his water bottle. Empty. A curse sat on Hermes' lips but he managed to quell it. He leaned his bike against the building and stepped inside Bacchanal.
There were customers inside the high end wine store. A handsome family, dressed neatly, and looking like they were completely unaware of the heat death in the world outside. Dionysus shot a ghoulish grimace at Hermes.
"What?" Hermes asked flatly.
Dionysus, in his air conditioned palace that reeked of fermented grapes, turned the full force of bared teeth on Hermes and actually shooed him away.
"Excuse me!?" Hermes took a step in.
The mother of the family, wearing pearls, glared over at the door. Dionysus shot her a pleasing smile and gave Hermes another shoo.
Hermes rolled his eyes, threw his hands in the air, and stepped back out into the heat. Dionysus was the one who ordered his service. Hermes contemplated getting on his bike and riding away, but he was a consummate professional. He would never do something so crass as shoo someone away.
Hermes pulled out his phone and tried to simultaneously not think and think. He flitted through the job requests, wiggling the map back and forth under his thumb, and stared down the clock in the upper left. The sun beat down heavy enough to fry any idle thoughts to a burnt crisp. In that down moment, still trying to catch his breath, Hermes preferred that.
Ever since that drizzly day, Hermes didn’t want to allow himself idle moments. His mind would wander to that melancholy place and he’d instantly get the itch to drive down to the Stygian Cafe, to fill the space with one sided chatter. Hermes had to work a little harder to get that blush on the ashen man’s cheeks, but it was well worth it every time.
He didn’t know how to ask for another latte.
Hermes’ eyes were trained on the phone screen but he really wasn’t looking at it. His gaze glazed over, pixels blurring into a swirl of color.
It was too hot to think and Hermes wanted a piping drink. He wanted his usual. He wanted to ask for another heart shaped latte. He wanted Charon’s undivided attention. What he’d probably get is a cold glass of water and a pity muffin again, what with the way sweat cascaded down the back of his neck.
Hermes looked out into the lazy flow of traffic and thought about how it took him a full day to throw out that latte cup. How it had sat empty on his kitchen counter over night.
The door to Bacchanal sang as it opened and the dry family walked out into the wet heat. Hermes eyed them with judgement, especially the children that were allowed into the liquor store, high end or otherwise. He saved any biting remarks for its proprietor.
“Oh no its not like my time is important or anything.” Hermes walked in and talked with his hands. “By all means, call upon my services only to leave me out in the gutter like some kind of harlot.”
“Don’t be so over dramatic,” Dionysus said, charisma oozing from every pore. “I don’t need your stink scaring away my customers, they all have such delicate senses and I can smell you from here.”
“Consequences of hiring the fastest.” Hermes leaned one elbow on the counter. A sweat drop plopped down onto the granite, staining it with a comical splatter.
Dionysus leaned down to get his delivery and paused. Hermes shot him a shit eating grin and did not move. Dionysus sighed and pulled out a wooden box and from the gentle clanks and sloshes inside, Hermes made the astute assumption that it was very expensive wine. He held out his hands, but Dionysus jerked it back.
“Do not,” he said with finality. “Drop it.”
Hermes took the wooden box and rolled his eyes again.
“Do I look like Achilles? Have some faith.”
Hermes danced backwards out the door, making sure to do a little twirl on the sidewalk, just to watch Dionysus’ balk and sputter from his air conditioned confines. Hermes cackled and slid the box securely in his saddle bag before guiding his bike on a running start and slaloming down the hill.
Even being ‘extra cautious’ with Dionysus’ fragile cargo, Hermes made it to the expensive looking brownstone walk up. The puckered looking manservant, if Hermes had to take a guess, scowled down at Hermes’ appearance and took the over priced wine with pinkies up. But he did give Hermes a tip, so that was nice. Something to drop in Charon's tip jar.
Hermes didn’t know what was worse: riding through the heat and exerting energy or giving into lethargy and letting the sun beat down on him. He met in the middle and lazily glided his bike through what little shade the park had to offer, swaying his front wheel this way and that. One hand on the handlebar, the other looking at his phone. He squished the map back and forth, this way and that, knowing already he wasn’t going to take another job.
Not just yet.
He swerved towards the library.
Hermes didn’t rush. Without pumping his legs, Hermes could feel the strain he had put his thighs through. They burned from the workout and from the sting of UV rays. He almost didn’t notice, practicing what overly flirtatious phrase he could drop.
“Hey boss,” he muttered, lightly tapping his brakes.
“No. . . hey. . . hey my good man. . . ugh.”
Hermes’ bike bounced over the brick, not fast enough to rattle his teeth like it usually was.
“Hey,” he said one last time, seeing the tip of the Stygian Cafe crest over the slight hill. “Charon.”
He stopped his bike just outside the door.
“Can I have a latte?” he uttered.
In the tinted window, Hermes could see the ghastly sight that was his reflection. He didn’t blame Dionysus. His hair stood up at awkward angles. His face was flush and his mouth hung slack. There were deep dark circles of sweat under his armpits and his bike shorts were skewed on his thighs. Even over the fishy smell of the river, he could smell his own need for a shower.
Charon was nowhere to be seen inside. There was no sign for ‘15 minutes,’ and the usual sign was flipped to open, but the cafe was empty.
Hermes could leave. Charon hadn’t seen his miserable visage yet. But on the flip side, he hadn’t seen Charon.
Hermes sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down his exhaustion.
“Can I have a latte,” he said with conviction and walked into the cafe.
The stark difference from the heat outside to the lulling cool of the interior was enough to insight a bit of vertigo. Hermes walked through it, finding a confident stride.
“So are we playing a game of hide and seek now?” Hermes called out into the shop. “Or do I really smell that bad?”
Charon’s head popped out from the back that lead to a tiny kitchen. His eyes were wide and his hat hit the door way.
Hermes held up one hand.
“Hey boss,” he said.
Charon scurried out of the back room, ducking his head to get underneath the eaves, and wiping his hands down on his apron. They were kissed with flour and the domesticity was both strange and endearing on the spindly tall man. He moved with long strides and made his way from behind the counter.
“I was thinking today we might shake it up,” Hermes was already delving into the script he had prepared, but Charon’s deviation from the norm shook the confidence in his words. “Maybe today might be a little. . . what in the world are you doing?”
Charon breezed past Hermes without a glance to the front door. The lock clicked shut and Charon turned the sign from open to closed. Hermes twisted in place, trying to keep an eye on the gigantic barista as he moved behind Hermes to one of the tiny tables that sat in the window. The chair groaned against the floor as Charon pulled it out. Expectant eyes aimed at Hermes.
Hermes puffed out a laugh.
“Whats this now?” he asked.
Charon inched the chair out just a little more. Insistence apparent on the drag.
“Okay okay.” Hermes waved the air to placate Charon. He took a seat in the wrought iron chair. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but in that moment, it felt like a throne to Hermes.
Charon edged the chair back into place and Hermes helped with a few short little scoots. Charon let out a little sigh, a soft ’haaa’ on his breath that was as familiar to Hermes as the sunrise, but tinged with a clear relief. His long fingered hand trailed on the back of his chair as he rushed back behind the counter again.
Hermes leaned on his fists and watched Charon work. He moved with the quick efficiency of a rush hour, trying to get too much done at one go. The hammering heart beat of physical exertion slowly died down as Hermes sat and rested, replaced with a completely different rhythm while he watched Charon move.
The fan overhead wheeled around lazily but it was more than enough to cool the little shop. The sunshine through the window prickled Hermes’ skin, not as the pain from the outside world, but a soft cozy hug of warmth. Hermes closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in it. To be comfortable and still.
Charon grunted as he rounded the counter again, hurrying to take off his apron and fumbling with the tie. Hermes laughed under his breath, but watched Charon’s arms carefully. Charon picked up two cups and took a professional stride to stand waiter-like alongside Hermes’ table. He placed a sweaty glass of what looked like iced lemonade on the empty side of the table and a hot mug of coffee in front of Hermes.
A latte.
With a poorly drawn heart.
Hermes was lost staring at the cup, smiling pleasantly down at it and hands between his knees. His eyes traced back to Charon, watching him deliver a small plate to the center of the table. On it was one of those special Centaur Hearts. Charon’s ability to bake a perfectly symmetrical heart was a far cry better than his ability to draw one in coffee. And far better than a pity muffin.
Charon paused at the table side, held up one long finger, and leaned over the counter again. Hermes’ eyes slid over his slim frame, unable to stop the grin on his face. Charon produced a bottle of water with a flourish and brought it back to the table. He made a point to carefully place it in front of Hermes, turning the bottle so the label was properly displayed for Hermes to see.
Hermes looked up at Charon, his eyes dragging as the restfulness of the moment draped heavy over him. It was slow. He was never slow. But because it was Charon, it was okay.
“Do I really look that bad?” Hermes asked.
Charon shook his head frantically, insistent that no, Hermes looked fine.
Hermes’ grin widened and there it was. That blush he loved so much.
Charon took the seat across from Hermes, long arms crooking to brace himself on the back of the chair. In an unexpected move, he took off his hat, hung it on the back of the chair, and settled with his hands around the cup of lemonade. He looked out the window and took a sip, settling into the situation he set up.
Hermes took in all the details. The soft jazz over the speakers. The whir of the fan. The heart that jiggled in his latte with every shake of the lopsided table.
The man across from him.
Hermes leaned on his elbow and took a swipe of the milk foam.
“How long have you been planning this?” he asked and slipped his finger into his mouth.
“Hnng,” Charon said, keeping his focus securely out the window, an attempt to look blase, but Hermes had already found him out.
“Gotta wait until the shop was empty so that we could have it all to ourselves, hm? Wouldn’t do to have the lone barista in this place sneaking off to ambush his regular patron into some one on one time, am I right?”
“Hrrrmm.”
Charon took another long sip and the ice in his glass clinked.
“I suppose I have to apologize for being so late today.” Hermes nestled the cup in his hands and the heat of it felt right. “Didn’t know I had a very important appointment.”
Charon huffed, but kept his gaze outside. Hermes took a long sip from his latte, the one made special for him, and kept his eyes on his . . . date.
“Well then.” Hermes’ mug clinked back down on its saucer. “What do people talk about in these situations? We could go on about the weather, which would be incredibly basic, but I think today is one of those rare exceptions. Or maybe music? Do you really like the music you play here or is simply the nature of the business? Or maybe are you a dog person or a cat person. Have you seen any good movies lately?”
Hermes defaulted to babbling. It was what he was best at. Charon finally turned his head, focusing those deep set eyes on Hermes.
“What do you like to do for fun?” Hermes kept going and leapt right over the nervous warble in his voice. His foot bounced under the table, shaking the leg. “I wasn’t kidding, it honest to goodness seems like you live out of this place. Do you ever get out of here? For more than 15 minute shopping trips. Do you actually sleep here?”
Hermes ignored the way Charon’s hand crept across the table. Even when it slid over his own hand, ice cold fingers chilling him in the afternoon sun. He tried to ignore the way Charon’s pinky slid between Hermes’ fingers and curled around his hand.
“I m-mean.” Did he stutter? When had Hermes ever stuttered before. “Its no problem if you do.”
Charon rose off his chair, leaning over the table top and careful not to knock anything over. His long hair fell off his shoulders, draping like a curtain. The coins on his gold necklace clinked as they slid down the chain and caught in the sun.
“You can sleep anywhere you like,” Hermes babbled. “In the gutter for all I care, because I mean you. . . you. . .”
Hermes expected the heat of a kitchen and behind the counter to have travelled with Charon, but like his hands, he seemed to radiate a wintery chill. A sweet relief on Hermes’ overheated skin. Charon’s breath tickled over his skin, across his cheek, and into his ear. A string of words whispered into Hermes’ ear, a deep quiet voice, far more articulate than Hermes had heard up until that point.
Hermes’ lids fluttered, suddenly heavy with implications. His mouth hung open and he breathed in deep. His chest rising with slow inhales more suited for falling asleep.
Charon leaned back, his thin mouthed smile denoting a smugness like he was supremely proud of himself. He managed to shut up Hermes’ motormouth. His chilled fingers pulsated once around Hermes’ hand, convincing Hermes to curl his hand in return. He laughed once, letting his face drop.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah me too.”
Charon looked back out the open window to the world outside, people places and things that didn’t seem to matter to Hermes, but he looked anyway. Charon’s thumb traced up and down his fingers, slow trails that was against the speed of Hermes usual life, but one that he wanted to get to know regardless.
He took another sip from his latte and watched the world slip by.
____
Up Elm, down Milk st, cross Denver way, and definitely take the bike path.
Hermes stood on the pedals and whistled a tune with no name. He kept to his bike lane, hips shifting back and forth with each pump, and sincerely enjoyed the ride.
The weather was sliding from sweltering death to just sweltering. The leaves in the trees were thinking of changing color. Every so often, just before the sun rose, Hermes could see his breath and taste the cold on the air.
And he was in a perpetually good mood.
Hermes' little whistle dipped like a slide as he rounded a corner, letting one foot drop to the ground to dramatically wheel his bike through the sharp turn. The morning commute was in full swing and a pedestrian jumped at his sudden appearance. Hermes just kept on biking.
He couldn’t explain it. The world was a better place. The air tasted better. The wind whipped through his breaker jacket and he could have told himself it was the change in weather that perked him up, but he knew better.
He was no longer lonely.
The thoughts that lurked in the quiet corners were all but snuffed out when he laid down in his less than empty bed. Cocooned in muffled murmurs and heart shaped milk foam.
Still whistling, Hermes half skipped across the lobby, his sneakers squeaking against the marble floor. He dinged an invisible bell on the guard counter and his palm slapped the surface, bringing the guard to full attention. Hermes’ smile could not be stopped and his brows rose in amusement.
“Delivery for Olympus Inc,” he said with nothing but pure professionalism. When the guard didn’t move he leaned over the counter and waggled his finger at the phone. “Call Hestia, she’ll understand, no need to worry more than necessary. Please and thank you.”
The guard stared slack jawed up at Hermes’ sudden presence before the words sank in and he jolted into action. Hestia was down a few minutes later, thanks to the heavy traffic from the elevators, but for once, Hermes was in no rush. Perfectly professional, he handed off the weekly delivery of legal documents from their storage and was on his way.
He had time. There was always time. He could have pulled out his phone and took up a new job.
But Hermes had greater priorities. Hermes deserved some well earned down time.
He made his way towards the center of the city where the main train station lay, ferrying commuters from suburbs and depositing them on the sprawling network of their respective tracks. Hermes would never be caught dead on something so slow and unpredictable as a train and had little reason to enter the station, except for the little cart in the center.
The one that sold flowers.
“Whats that one called?” Hermes asked, fingering a long purple petal with a shock of yellow shooting down the center. He still stood with his bike between his legs, ready to ride right out the station doors.
“Its called a daylilly,” the pleasant woman at the flower station said. “They can be a little pricey though.”
Hermes hummed, rubbing the waxy petal and knowing he was absolutely destroying it. He plucked it from the container.
“One please.”
Hermes headed through the medical district, cutting through hospitals and research centers, pass the grandiose library, into the conjoined college campuses that he only had fond feelings for. It was amazing how his view of the place had changed from a few evening strolls.
The daylilly, wrapped protectively in plastic, rustled in his saddle bag.
Students had returned to school, packed neatly away in their dorms, ready to take on the too early in the morning classes they had signed themselves up for. The result was a healthy line that wound from the mouth of the Stygian Cafe.
Hermes bypassed them all.
He made no show of locking up his bike, nor walking past the queue and right into the door, despite the quiet protest of someone who would have to actually wait their turn.
Hermes had half expected Charon to change, at least the way he saw the barista. After all, the whole world had changed around them. Colors were brighter, songs made sense, he didn't feel the need to go screaming through his morning routine. Not when there was someone making coffee for him in the mornings. But no, Charon looked exactly the same. The same long, strong arms and ridiculous hat. The same intense eyes that had moments of softness that could break Hermes' heart. All of it, the exact same as before.
All of it felt the exact same as before.
"Ding ding," Hermes said too loudly so as to be heard over the din of conversation and soft piano. He listed around the corner on one foot, leaning just into the employees only area.
Charon looked up from where he was sprinkling cinnamon on top of foam that would only get squashed down by a lid.
"Hey boss." Hermes stood up straight and gave Charon a little salute.
Charon grumbled something Hermes couldn't quite hear and pretended to not be surprised, but long before Charon had placed his hand over his own, Hermes had been able to read him. To see he was pleased. As he was every morning.
"How is my darling dearest today?" Hermes asked quickly, leaning over the invisible line that separated customer from employee. "You were out of the apartment in such a hurry I barely had any time to say hello good morning and good bye."
Charon's 'hurry' was a crawl compared to Hermes' and by Charon's soft snort they both knew it. It was just that, well, Hermes had learned to really enjoy taking his time in the morning.
Charon delivered the special macchiato to the waiting customer, rang her up, and moved to the next one. Hermes leaned against the pastry display and held out the plastic wrapped flower.
"For you," he said.
Charon froze, staring down the purple yellow petals. The plastic crinkled as Hermes twirled it.
"Made me think of you." Hermes winked and coveted Charon's blush.
"Nnnnghhaa."
Charon plucked the flower from it's plastic prison and deposited it into the little chipped vase just above the delivery counter. Next to yesterday's flower. And the day's before that. As many that would fit comfortably in the vase until they withered and Charon would reluctantly throw them out.
Charon gracefully went for an already prepared cup and, in a single smooth motion, passed it to Hermes. The latte was chilled to room temperature and Hermes didn't need to look under the lid to know what was drawn in the foam. He took a peek anyways.
Hermes watched Charon, the rim of his cup to his lips. He'd never tire of the economical movements, the slow dance in his small space that he filled so well.
Hermes' phone buzzed in his pocket as yet another request came in. He sighed and snapped the lid in place.
"I'm afraid I must be off, my dear sir," Hermes said with too much fanfare. "But I will be seeing you later on, hm?"
"Hmmm," Charon said with a nod.
Hermes indulged in a further moment to simply watch the man he had tied himself to, to enjoy his company as divulged as it may be.
Hermes crossed that invisible line.
Charon was pulling down on the steam wand and looked up, maybe to protest Hermes' boldness, but, being bold, Hermes tugged on the corner of Charon's brim and tugged him down to Hermes' height. His lips meet Charon's cold ones, the corners curling up into a pleased smile as whatever Charon was going to say died out in a soft rumble. It should've been a peck, all they had time for was a peck, but Hermes had learned to take his time. He was slow to pull away.
In some ways it was easier to make Charon blush.
"Later boss!" Hermes said with another salute.
He stepped back out into the hallway heat of the oncoming day and sipped from his latte. Next job already picked out, Hermes hopped on his bike and all but flew off into the fray.