Chapter Text
Eurydice hadn’t seen much of her husband as of late.
Correction– she had seen her husband, but he hadn’t seen her. Only sparing her short glances, if he even looked up from where he was hunched over his lyre. Giving small hums in response to her questions, quick words of affirmation to her pleading concerns– “I’m fine, love.”, “It’s almost done.”. Barely eating and drinking, but then again, nobody here was.
The longer the winter stretched, the more focused he became, and the stronger the semblance of solitude in their home became. She fretted, not just over herself and her empty stomach and their firewood burning away quicker than expected, but over Orpheus, and how he seemed to be slipping away from himself as well.
“Is he always like this?” She asked Hermes, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. The first time she’d asked the question, she had been admittedly endeared by his forward nature and earnestness. Now, all of that was gone, replaced by a stretched-thin and hyper-focused version of the boy she loved. Hermes had been honest, giving her a weary “yes,” and she’d turned back to him with a pain in her heart and guilty frustration.
Perhaps it was partly her fault for urging him to finish it, but she also couldn’t not, because once it was done, all of their suffering was too. She only hoped it would be soon.
Eurydice pulled her clothes tighter around herself and rapped her knuckles against the door to his study, more out of habit than anything. It was rare that he’d even tell her to come in, usually not even noticing she’d entered until she put a hand on his shoulder.
When she entered this time, he didn’t look up, but he also wasn’t perched on his chair where he usually was. He was sitting crumpled on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself, his head bowed and beloved instrument laid on the ground beside him. A scuff mark on the wooden floor showed it had been dropped or thrown away.
“Orpheus!” Eurydice exclaimed, and quickly ran over and kneeled near him, worried for a moment that he’d finally collapsed from exhaustion or hunger. Orpheus did react to her voice, lifting his head slightly to meet her eyes, and his expression made her heart clench. He looked utterly broken, his face sunken in, his eyes exhausted and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He looked physically unwell, and Eurydice pressed a hand to his forehead to see if he was running a fever.
“What happened? Orpheus, talk to me.” She took his hands, wincing at the callouses he’d built and rubbed raw from strumming. Orpheus shook his head.
“I- I’m fine, love. I’m sorry to disturb you. I just- I just need to…”
“Forget about the song for a moment,” Eurydice said, bringing her hand to cradle the side of his face. He didn’t let himself lean into it, turning back to his lyre.
“I- I can’t… it’s not done yet.”
“It’s not going to finish itself any quicker if you drop dead from exhaustion. Gods, Orpheus, you look terrible.” She turned his head back towards her, holding his face like if she never let go, she could keep him from all harm. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I napped yesterday, but don’t you see, that’s time I could have been working on it,” Orpheus fixed her with his pleading brown eyes, needing her to understand, to share his sense of urgency. She felt it, every time the cold wind nipped at her skin under her jacket, but somehow seeing her lover in this condition felt worse than the frigid cold, worse than the aching pains in her stomach. At least that she was used to.
Eurydice took her hand off of his jaw, running them down his shoulders and arms in a comforting gesture, like she had so many times before. Like hers, his frame was smaller, sharper around the edges. When she brought her hands over his forearms, she noticed a small, barely noticeable wince, a tightening of his mouth. She gave him a questioning look, and he gave her one that looked almost afraid.
“Are you hurt?” Eurydice asked, and he opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again as she rolled his sleeve up, revealing the source of his pain. Red, freshly closed scratches, going up and down his arms, in the same place he’d been digging his fingernails when she’d entered. Eurydice looked up at him, holding his arm in a gentle but tight grip, not wanting to let him go but afraid to inflict further pain.
“Orpheus, did you do this…?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. Her husband looked struck, turning away to not face her. His foot scuffed anxiously on the floor next to hers, a nervous tic.
“You wouldn’t understand, it helps me focus, I- I don’t do it much.” He spoke quickly, like he did whenever he got in trouble with Hermes.
Eurydice trailed her thumb along his arm, looking from the rough marks to him. “You’re hurting yourself.”
“It’s not bad, it–” He used his other hand to pull his sleeve back down, chewing on his lip. “It just helps me focus.”
“Love–”
“Just don’t tell Hermes, please. He wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t understand,” Eurydice said, grabbing his hand before he could pull away. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but if I can help…”
“Can you summon spring and save a whole town of people from freezing to death?” Orpheus scoffed, his voice uncharacteristically sardonic. “No, it’s only my song that can, and I need to finish it. Whatever it takes.”
“Okay,” Eurydice said, not loosening her grip despite the sharpness in his voice. It sounded like arrogance, but she knew it wasn't that. “Do whatever you need to do. Just... be careful."
She had no choice but to trust him. She would trust him with her life, she was trusting him with her life, but she wishes he could have certainty that it would be okay. That he would be okay, and wouldn't crack and break under the pressure, like a lithe tree that wasn't built for a storm.
He softened, and seemed to feel guilty for his tone, because he raised his hand and brushed a lock from her face, and his lips met hers in an apologetic kiss. She leaned into it, relishing in feeling his warmth against her face, and it only made her chest tighten more when he drew away, and she saw again how weary he’d become. Even going through the actions of romance seemed more like a display, a quick reassurance to her to not worry about it, but it was becoming more impossible to not.
_______
Don’t tell Hermes.
Orpheus’s words rang in her head for the coming weeks, and she knew it was awful to feel the urge to do just that, to go against his one request. But her worry for him outweighed her morals, and as time went on, he seemed less and less himself. He was scattered anytime he wasn’t deep in practicing his song, as if that’s the only thing that he could think about. He was sleeping even less, if possible, and seemed more upset and frustrated with himself each time she saw him. She could tell he was suffering emotionally as well as physically, yet the two seemed tied together. The last straw for her was when she found him slumped teary-eyed over his desk, and when she helped him up, she saw the stains on his sleeves. She’d dragged him into the washroom and made him clean himself in a warm basin, so he at least wouldn’t get an infection, but it was hard to speak during the process because of the lump in her throat. Orpheus had apologized, had promised he'd be more careful, but she knew it was no accident.
The next time Hermes came to visit, with Orpheus still locked away in his study, Eurydice finally voiced her worries to him. The first time she’d said them out loud, actually.
“I’m worried about Orpheus,” she said, standing in the kitchen with the silver-haired God.
“Let me guess, the boy’s been workin’ himself to the bone?” Hermes said, not seeming the least bit surprised. “You just hadn’t seen it yet. You were bound to at some point.”
“You don’t understand, he’s always been a hard worker, but this is different. He’s not even himself anymore, like something's taken over him.”
If Hermes was concerned, he didn’t show it yet. His face was solemn, but that was to be expected at these times. “That sounds like the right Orpheus to me.”
“He’s not eating or taking care of himself, and he…” Eurydice cast a glance towards the study, hesitant despite knowing that Orpheus wouldn’t be listening. She looked the God. “Hermes, has Orpheus ever hurt himself before?”
Now, there was a change in Hermes expression, his eyebrows crinkling slightly as he let out a small sigh. Once again, he didn’t seem surprised, just weary. “I wish I could tell you differently, but that’s also another… quirk of his.”
“For how long?” Eurydice couldn’t help but ask.
“He’d always had those tendencies, even as a younger boy, but he wasn’t that open about it. You can let me talk to ‘im though. I’ve seen him like this before, even if it’s a fresh sight to you.”
“He didn’t want me to tell you, though.”
Hermes huffed. “Well, of course he didn’t. The boy never knows what’s good for him.”
“I don’t know if he’ll talk to you. He doesn’t even talk to me about it.”
“Well, he’s gonna have to.” Hermes resigned himself and walked past her, stopping before the door. “I know the boy, and I can’t promise things will change, but I’ll give it a shot. Just wait out here, make yourself comfortable.”